


The Butterflies in my Stomach, They could bring me to my Knees

by asylynn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drug and Alcohol Use, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Louis, M/M, Older Harry, Smut, Virgin Louis, bottom!Louis, i don't recommend reading until it's complete but w/e, mentions of depression/suicide, minimal Niall/Barbara on the side, panic/anxiety, starts out fluffy then turns smutty with some angst but still fluffy idk, this fic is currently under construction!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 51,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asylynn/pseuds/asylynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Louis moves in with his new foster family, he meets a beautiful boy who lives down the street.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Nothing good ever happens in September.  
  
  
Louis has been staring at a flat dirt road for miles now, growing irritated with the ever-present buzz of static that creeps in through the radio of an old Chevrolet, its engine rumbling unfavorably while the social worker drives and drives. It smells like menthol cigarettes in her car, the plastic Jesus on the dashboard swaying with every turn. “You’ll like these people,” she says, but she probably doesn’t mean it. They never really do.  
  
  
Louis isn’t listening, anyway.  
  
  
It’s hot in Florida, the air damp without a drop of rain. They’ve ended up somewhere in the countryside, alternatively known as 'the boondocks,' or more accurately, 'the middle of fucking nowhere.' All the while passing spacious blue lakes and orange groves, acres of fenced-in fields housing horses and goats. It’s beautiful, but Louis sort of hates it. His fingers pinch at the skin of his inner thigh over his jeans, a nervous habit. They've gotta be getting close, now.   
  
  
He rests his forehead against the glass of the window, eyes dropping closed. He focuses on breathing, an inhale for every exhale, but these days, it seems to take more willpower than usual. Sometimes, if he tries hard enough, he can get lost like this, caught in between each expansion of his chest. And then his mind gets sort of quiet, and he doesn’t have to think for a while.  
  
  
Lately, that’s all he really wants.  
  
  
The next exit ramp dumps them into a small town, which leads to an even smaller neighborhood. There isn’t much to see around here, save for a gas station attached to an old corner store, and houses sprinkled between long stretches of green that blends and blurs at the edges. They're far out from the city now, trading downtown chaos for winding roads and quiet streets. The social worker curses under her breath as she tries to make sense of the navigation app on her iPhone, until they finally come to a stop in front of a small house.  
  
  
Louis' hands begin to shake.  
  
  
It’s painted baby blue, faded with time; some tiles in the roof are missing. The front yard is nothing but dry grass and weeds that reach up and wilt under the sun, relentless. A plastic pinwheel spins with the breeze. The screen door opens and slams when a woman steps out, short and curvy with blonde hair tied up in a knot on top of her head. She smiles broadly and steps down from the porch, shaking Louis’ hand as soon as he’s climbed out of the car.  
  
  
“It is so nice to meet you, Louis,” she says, her accent thick with the south. “You can call me Charlene.”  
  
  
Louis nods, tries to look cheerful despite the nervous clench of his stomach. “Nice to meet you, too." He doesn't recognize his own voice, it's so quiet. His suitcase is held tight against his palm.  
  
  
Charlene turns to the social worker then with a wave of her hand. “Good to see you again, Leslie. Hope it wasn’t too long of a drive?”  
  
  
The social worker – Leslie, apparently – smiles benignly and hitches her purse over her shoulder, tucking her keys inside. “There was a bit of a traffic jam on the highway but once we exited at Umatilla, it was fine.”  
  
  
“Never any traffic around here, there’s only one stoplight in the whole town,” Charlene laughs, turning her attention back to Louis. “Oh, now where are my manners? Let me take that for you, hun,” she says, taking Louis’ suitcase off his hands.  
  
  
“Thanks,” he mutters, shifting awkwardly on his feet.  
  
  
“Now, come on in,” Charlene tells them, beckoning towards the house. “I’ll show you around.”  
  
  
Louis follows his new foster mother up the wooden steps of the front porch, glancing around reverently. A pink, plastic lawn chair sits outside by the screen door, along with a rickety table that's topped with a nail file, some scattered coins, and an ashtray, cigarette butts snuffed out against the glass. Wind chimes hang from the rafters, swaying gently with the breeze.  
  
  
It’s a bit cramped but cozy inside Charlene’s house. She pours them glasses of sugary pink lemonade and gives a quick tour, pointing and chatting as she goes, her hands moving fluidly. A large wooden cross hangs above the front door, like a prayer, a promise, a warning. _Jeopardy_ is playing on a small television, flickering softly against the back wall of the living room (“I’ll take ‘potent potables’ for 200, Alex”). An old dog lies curled up on its bed in the corner, fast asleep.  
  
  
Louis follows Charlene down a narrow hallway to his new room, stepping inside after she nudges the door open with a broad hip. There isn’t a lot of furniture, except for a desk pushed up against the wall, a single bed beside the window, and a nightstand topped with a dusty lava lamp. “This is your room,” Charlene tells him. She speaks slow and carefully, similar to the way one approaches a frightened animal. Louis can only imagine how anxious he must look right now.  
  
  
She sets his suitcase down on the bed and straightens the pillows, brushing at the duvet with a manicured hand, her nails frosted beige. “Go ahead and make yourself at home now, okay?” She gives him a wide smile and then goes back to the living room to talk to the social worker, while Louis’ files are laid out in the open on the coffee table for them to pick apart and discuss. Like he's just another case, just another orphan. Never a person.

  
Still, it's a relief to be left by himself, again. He's had eyes on him the entire day. Watching, observing. Like they're all just waiting for him to snap, or something. It's unnerving. He just wants to be left alone. He can’t be bothered to unpack yet, so he tucks his suitcase in the bedroom closet, empty inside except for some unused hangers on the skeletal rack. It’s not like he has much stuff to unpack, anyway. Just some old clothes, a toothbrush. Nothing special, nothing new.  
  
  
He sits down on the bed, hears the mattress creak under his weight. He stays there for a while, maybe hours or minutes or something in between. It doesn’t really matter. When it grows dark outside the window, he flicks the switch on the lava lamp until it glows, dim shades of lavender and turquoise. He stares at it until his eyes grow heavy, welcoming any kind of distraction. He watches as the lava bubbles up towards the top, just to fall back down again.  
  
  
It reminds him of a picture of a volcano he drew when he was a little kid. He brought it home from school to show his mother, and he knew it was nothing special, but she still told him it was the nicest drawing she had ever seen, and she hung it on the refrigerator next to the rest of his crayon-scribbled pictures, with magnets shaped like the alphabet, and dinosaurs, too.  
  
  
Sometimes he wishes he didn’t remember these things. And other times, he hopes he never forgets.   
  
  
  
  
That night, he doesn’t fall asleep, but he pretends to be in bed when Charlene knocks on the door and tells him that dinner is ready.  
  
  
  
Louis isn’t hungry.  
  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
The next morning, he meets Barbara, his foster sister. She's a pretty, sullen-looking girl, with long dark hair and wide eyes. She sleeps in the bedroom across the hall and it smells like a girl inside, feminine and saccharine-sweet. Louis stays close to the door, fidgeting a bit, watching Barbara get ready. She sits in front of a spotted vanity mirror and combs her hair, outlining her eyes with dark pencil.   
  
  
“I’m supposed to be meeting up with some friends,” she tells him, dabbing pink gloss onto her lips with her ring finger. “Wanna come?”  
  
  
Louis had planned on spending the day staring at the lava lamp again, but he nods his head anyway. Maybe he should try to make new friends for once. He's been keeping to himself for longer than he'd like to admit. So, he follows after Barbara when she grabs her purse and slips out of the house, the screen door slamming shut behind them. Up ahead, the dirt road seems to stretch for miles without end in front of them, flanked by dense forest on one side, flat land on the other. They kick up sand and dust as they walk, passing houses and trailer homes on the way. Dogs bark and howl behind chainlink fences, a lawn mower revs up somewhere in the distance. People sit like furniture on the front porches, smoking while their kids play in the yard. Some of them wave.  
  
  
“So,” Barbara says, breaking the silence. “Where’d you come from?”  
  
  
"Uhm," Louis softly clears his throat, and it feels like the first time in weeks that he's exercised his vocal chords. "A children’s home. In Ocala.”  
  
  
Barbara doesn’t say anything, just nods her head sagely.  
  
  
He bites his lip. “Are you Charlene’s daughter?”  
  
  
“Nah, I’m foster like you.”  
  
  
Louis nods, relieved to have that much in common with this girl. “How long have you been here for?”  
  
  
She pushes her hair behind her ears. “A little over a year. It’s not so bad, ‘cept she makes us go to church every Sunday,” she mutters, wrinkling her nose.  
  
  
Louis swats at a mosquito on his arm, chuckling humorlessly. “Well, I’m used to that."  
  
  
St. Mary Magdalene’s was a Christian children’s home, and Louis had spent the last four years of his life there. He remembers sitting in the pews, zoning out during Reverend Stanley's usual sermon, his hands tucked beneath his thighs for warmth. It was always cold in the church. 

  
“Char spends a lot of time at her boyfriend’s house,” Barbara continues, “so she doesn’t really pay much attention, you know? But I think I like it better that way.”  
  
  
Louis nods, his brow furrowing. “Why does she take in foster kids?”  
  
  
Barbara shrugs. “I think she feels guilty, ‘cause she used to be an alcoholic. And that’s like, a sin, I guess? So, now I guess she’s trying to…I don’t know? ‘Get right with the Lord,’” Barbara says, making air-quotes with her fingers, her lips twisted into something not quite a smile. “Plus, foster parents get money from the state for taking in lost souls like us.”  
  
  
Louis nods. “I figured.”  
  
  
“But she’ll still use it to buy you stuff, you know? Like, she took me shopping for some new clothes, and a phone.”  
  
  
Louis really hopes Charlene will take him shopping soon, too. He had been wearing the same old clothes for years, and by now he’s growing too big for them, his jeans rising up embarrassingly at his ankles. “Guess it could be worse,” he says, quietly. “I didn’t really know what to expect when they brought me here.”  
  
  
Barbara nods. “Trust me, the place I was before this?  _That_  was fucked. But here, it’s not so bad.”  
  
  
They keep walking until they reach a giant pine tree near the side of the road, its needles scattered around the root and turning brown with the coming of autumn. It’s difficult to miss, and Louis figures the tree must be some sort of meeting point for Barbara and her friends. They stand waiting in the shade, Barbara tapping away at her iPhone and Louis not saying anything at all. He starts to wonder if he’s bothering her by tagging along, if she thinks he’s annoying, if she’s afraid he’ll embarrass her in front of her friends. He always thinks like that.  
  
  
It isn’t long before two figures appear over the sloping hillside, slowly drawing closer; a boy with blond hair and a big smile, the other with eyes the color of whiskey.  
  
  
“ _Finally_ , you show up,” Barbara calls.  
  
  
The blond loops an arm around her waist, pulling her in to kiss her cheek. Then both boys’ eyes turn expectantly to Louis. He shrinks slightly under their gaze.  
  
  
“Niall, Liam,” Barbara says, cocking her head in Louis’ direction. “This is Louis, Char’s new foster.”  
  
  
Louis has always felt uneasy around strangers – particularly boys his own age. In the past, some of them have teased him about his height, called him a 'fairy,' or something worse. And so it’s a relief to find that the warmth in Liam’s smile seems genuine, while Niall simply resonates the word ‘friendly,’ shaking Louis’ hand and talking to him as if they hadn’t just met, standing underneath a pine tree in the middle of nowhere.  
  
  
“So, you’re sleeping across the hall from my girlfriend now, huh?” Niall asks suddenly.  
  
  
Louis blinks, taken aback. “Oh – uhm –”  
  
  
Niall laughs, loud and infectious. “Just messin' with you,” he assures him, clapping Louis on the shoulder.  
  
  
Barbara rolls her eyes. “Ignore him, Louis. I haven’t managed to find a suitable boy to replace him, yet.”  
  
  
Niall just grins even wider at that. “Can’t replace me, I’m like that Beyoncé song.”  
  
  
Liam laughs, and Barbara shakes her head, fighting back a fond smile. “Babe,” she says to Niall then, tucking her phone into her purse. “You bring any green?”  
  
  
Niall frowns. “Nah, I’m dry, sorry. We could swing by Zayn’s, though.”  
  
  
Barbara shrugs with a nod, and then they start to walk, still following the dirt road, the silence now replaced with Niall’s raucous laughter and Liam’s inquisitive voice. Louis doesn’t say anything, just listens as they dive into a discussion about some party.  
  
  
“Sick, man," Liam says, "Can’t believe they’re finally going away."  
  
  
Niall nods. “Yeah, well, we can’t all have parents who are nice enough to leave the house every once in a while like yours, Li.”  
  
  
Liam grimaces. "My parents haven't left me home alone for a night ever since the last party when someone broke my dad’s fence.”  
  
  
Niall just shrugs. “Wasn’t me.” He turns to Louis then. “Louis, you coming Friday? Party at my place!”  
  
  
Louis looks uncertainly to Barbara, and she gives him a reassuring nod. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to," she tells him. "Niall’s parties can get a little out of hand."  
  
  
" _A little?_ " Liam scoffs.  
  
  
Louis has never been to a party before in his life.  
  
  
“Uhm – sure,” he says, and Niall pats him encouragingly on the back.  
  
  
They keep walking and talking, kicking up sand, the sun hot on the crowns of their heads, and Louis finds himself laughing along at times, even if he doesn't always understand what they're saying. Eventually, they make a turn down a single road, the green tag above the stop sign labeled _Sullivan Street_. It’s relatively deserted, except for an elderly man sat in a rocking chair on his front porch, and an orange tabby cat napping in a nearby flowerbed. Further up the street, Louis can see someone standing in the yard of a small, yellow house, coming into view as they gradually draw closer.  
  
  
It’s an older boy, wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue jeans, barefoot on the grass, his brown hair tied back in a black bandana. He's tall and lean, his left arm and chest cluttered with tattoos, ivory splattered with black ink. He stands in front of a large, forest-green truck with its hood propped up, leaning forward to inspect the engine with a furrowed brow.  
  
  
Louis catches himself staring and quickly looks away, his face a bit hot. He panics when he realizes that the others are slowly making their way into this boy’s yard, and quickly hides himself behind Liam.  
  
  
“Hey, Harry!” Niall calls.  
  
  
The boy straightens up then, looking around in surprise before his face splits into a devastating grin. “How’s it going?” he asks, his voice like nothing Louis has ever heard before.  
  
  
“The usual,” Niall says. “Zayn home?”  
  
  
The boy,  _Harry_ , inclines his head towards the front door. “Probably sleeping.”  
  
  
Niall shrugs. “We’ll wake him up.”  
  
  
The next thing Louis knows, he’s following Niall, Barbara, and Liam into the yellow house. It’s dark inside, the blinds drawn to a close to block the sun. There's a small kitchen with a table for two, and a living room made up of mix-matched furniture, a television sat on the floor opposite the couch. The coffee table is scattered with an art magazine, a deck of playing cards, some small, silver screws, and what looks to be an exhaust pipe that you'd find attached to a car.  
  
  
Niall strolls inside like he owns the place, charging down the hallway and into one of the bedrooms, the door on the right. “Zayn!” he calls, "enough with the beauty sleep, for fuck's sake."  
  
  
Barbara sighs and plops down on the couch while Louis fidgets by the wall, listening to Niall’s persistent attempts to wake the grumbling person in the next room. A few minutes later, he walks back out with a grin, followed by another boy – this one with dark features and a finely chiseled face. And Louis wonders how it’s possible for Barbara and all of her friends to be so beautiful. He frowns, feeling desperately plain in comparison.  
  
  
The other boy, Zayn, carries a shoebox in his hands, setting it down on the kitchen counter. He yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What’ll it be?”  
  
  
Niall digs into his pocket, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. “Think a dime should be good.”  
  
  
The others kick back and make casual conversation while Louis watches, astounded, as Zayn pulls a rather large bag of pot from his shoebox, weighing some out on a miniature scale. He’s only ever seen stuff like this happen in movies, before. Gangster movies, or coming-of-age teen films. He half-expects the front door to burst open at any moment, a SWAT team to file in and haul them off to the county jail, charged with criminal possession. But the others don’t seem the least bit fazed.  
  
  
He finally moves away from the wall when Barbara motions for him to sit next to her on the couch, making sure he’s comfortable. He sits quietly, hands folded in his lap, watching in fascination as Niall breaks up his newly purchased weed on the coffee table, rolling a joint. He licks at the folds and carefully tucks the ends with practiced ease, flicking his thumb at the metal of an orange Bic lighter. He drags the flame across the length of the joint, once, twice, three times, before igniting the tip. He offers the first hit to Barbara.  
  
  
The room falls quiet then as they pass the joint around in an easy rotation, large inhales interspersed with an occasional cough. The air grows hazy with smoke, and it’s the first time Louis has ever smelled pot, sharp and distinct. An old episode of  _Scooby-Doo_  is playing on TV, and when Velma pulls a lever, a bookcase turns into a secret trapdoor.  
  
  
Eventually, Barbara nudges Louis with her elbow, offering him a hit. He stares at it for a moment, contemplating, before shaking his head with a small “no, thanks.” And he’s relieved when they don’t pressure him at all, or tease him about it. They just become giggly and loose, the whites of their eyes glossing over.  
  
  
It's not as if Louis is _completely_ oblivious to this kind of stuff. Some of the kids back at the Home did drugs too, but he never hung around with that crowd. He didn't have a lot of friends, but the ones he did have were always the type to keep their bibles close, turning their noses up at a single cigarette. And maybe that's why Louis never really felt comfortable there, caught in the middle of two extremes. Not wholesome enough for the 'good kids,' but still too cautious to ever make it with the 'bad kids.' So he was stuck in the in-between. Curious, of course, but too afraid to ever try anything.  
  
  
Looking around now, he wonders how long it will take, before that all begins to change.  
  
  
The front door opens then, and Harry steps inside the house, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand, his torso glistening with sweat and small streaks of car grease. Louis averts his gaze, watching as Shaggy and Scooby are chased by a werewolf.  
  
  
Niall raises what’s left of the joint into the air. “H, you want in?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head. “It’s all yours, Ni. Thanks, though. 'm gonna shower.” And then he disappears down the hall.  
  
  
Louis spends the next ten minutes listening to the strange conversations Barbara and her friends have when they’re high. Something about subliminal messages, and crop circles ("Aliens are real, man. There's no fuckin' way we're alone"). When  _Scooby-Doo_  ends, another episode begins, back-to-back. Niall has his hand on Barbara's thigh, fingers jittery, like he’s having trouble sitting still. And then Zayn’s phone rings, and he leaves the room without a word.  
  
  
It isn't long before Harry walks back out in some jeans and a faded t-shirt, his hair wet and falling to his shoulders. He makes his way towards the living room, and Louis tries to ignore the way his nerves are suddenly lighting up like carnivals.  
  
  
Barbara is pliant and giggling on the couch next to Louis, and she smiles up at Harry as he approaches. “Oh, by the way, Harry,” she says, inclining her head. “This is Louis.”  
  
  
Harry pauses in front of the couch then, looking down at him with a polite smile. “Nice to meet you."  
  
  
Louis clears his throat. “Nice to meet you, too,” he squeaks out, his voice  _painfully_  quiet. He wonders if it's possible to die of embarrassment. He doesn't think he'd actually mind.  
  
  
Harry sits down on the recliner chair next to the couch. And Louis spends the rest of the afternoon trying not to look at him.  
  
  
  
  
When the sun sets, he follows Barbara back to his new foster home. Charlene is on the phone with one of her friends from church, but she points to a pot roast on the kitchen counter, telling them to dig in. They take their plates into the living room, eating in front of the TV.   
  
  
  
Later that night, Louis falls asleep to the thought of a butterfly traced onto porcelain skin, and something that could never be.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: homophobic slurs

It’s been four days, and Louis isn’t sure how to feel yet.  
  
  
He started at the local high school on Wednesday, getting lost in a void of unfriendly strangers and class schedules and protractors and teachers who probably hate their jobs. Everyone always stares at the new kid. He can hardly wait to be ignored, again.  
  
  
_Make yourself at home_ , Charlene keeps telling him, but the thing is, Louis doesn’t know _how_. It’s been years. And nothing has felt like ‘home’ for him in a long, long time. Sometimes he wonders if he’s forgotten what it meant, if he’ll ever have it again.  
  
  
Still, he’s adjusting to life here at least marginally better than he had expected when they first told him they found a placement home for him to go to. He probably has Barbara to thank for that. They walk to school together with Niall and Liam in the mornings, and she lets him tag along and sit with her at lunchtime. And to Louis’ surprise, they’re quickly becoming friends, too. It doesn't feel like a forced thing where they have to get along just because they live together. She’s sort of cynical and sarcastic, but she’s always nice to Louis.  
  
  
It makes things easier.  
  
  
It’s Friday night now, and Louis leans back against the bathroom wall, watching Barbara get ready. It’s sort of become a routine. When he’s bored, he’ll sit on her bed or hang out next to the vanity mirror, watching as she curls her hair and puts makeup on, her hands moving across the planes of her face in short, calculated strokes, with different brushes and pencils and shades of eyeshadow and lip balm. It all seems so complex. She sits up on the bathroom counter next to the sink, her legs crossed, mouth dropped open as she coats her lashes in black. Louis wonders why she always makes that face when she puts mascara on, but doesn’t ask.  
  
  
They’re both wearing the clothes they bought yesterday afternoon when Charlene drove them into town to go shopping; Barbara in her new miniskirt, and Louis in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He tugs self-consciously at the hem. “Are there going to be a lot of people there?”  
  
  
Barbara smirks, flicking her long hair behind her shoulders. “Probably. Niall knows everybody.” She hops down from the counter then, adjusting her top in front of the mirror, and brushing her hands at the back of her skirt. Then she turns to Louis. “Ready to go?”  
  
  
He swallows thickly, nodding his head.  
  
  
“Are you nervous?” she asks with a furrowed brow.  
  
  
He shrugs, averting his eyes. “Maybe. I don’t know…Never been to a party before.”  
  
  
She bites her lip, studying him for a moment. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”  
  
  
Louis shifts on his feet, frowning at his reflection in the mirror as he fiddles with his fringe. When Barbara comes back, she carries her purse in one hand and a can of orange soda in the other, setting them down on the countertop.  
  
  
Louis quirks his brow. “What are we doing?”  
  
  
She unzips her purse, digging around inside. “The best thing to do if you’re feeling nervous before a party is to show up already drunk. Takes the edge off,” she explains. And then she pulls out a plastic bottle of peach schnapps. She lowers her voice conspiringly then, even though they're home alone with no one around to hear her. “There’s not supposed to be any alcohol in the house, so keep this between us, okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, and then watches with wide eyes as she unscrews the cap, expertly taking a few large sips of the schnapps, before chasing it down with some soda. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, looking up at the timid expression on his face.  
  
  
“…You have drank before, right?”  
  
  
He shakes his head.  
  
  
Barbara looks at him incredulously first, and then smiles. “Shit, Louis,” she says, handing him the bottle. “Here. Take this.”  
  
  
Louis hesitates for a moment, staring critically at the clear poison in his hands. He takes a deep breath, then slowly raises the bottle to his lips, tipping it back and swallowing a measured sip. It’s deceptively sweet and syrupy, burning his throat on the way down. He coughs and shudders a bit at the taste, and Barbara hands him the can of soda.  
  
  
They pass the bottle back and forth a few more times, until it’s halfway empty, and then she tucks it back inside her purse. She’s quick to reapply her lipstick, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a tissue before turning out the bathroom light. Louis follows her out of the house, watching as she locks the front door.  
  
  
“Where’s Charlene?” he asks.  
  
  
Barbara shrugs, dropping the key into her purse. “At her boyfriend’s house. Not sure when she’ll be back.”  
  
  
They cross through the front yard to the dirt road, starting on the walk to Niall’s house. The sky is already a dark, inky-blue, the porch lights on the houses paving the way. Louis feels almost weightless on his feet, an unfamiliar warmth spreading from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. The schnapps must be kicking in.   
  
  
“I feel good,” he says.  
  
  
"Yeah?" Barbara grins, "me too.” Her phone lights up with a  _ping_ then, and she taps out a quick reply before slipping it back into her purse. “Sounds like it’s already pretty crowded,” she tells him. “You know, you should hook up with someone, tonight. There’s gonna be lots of girls there.”  
  
  
Louis doesn’t say anything, just laughs uneasily.  
  
  
“Oh, c’mon,” she nudges him encouragingly with her elbow, “at least make-out with somebody. What kind of girls are you into, anyway? Blondes? Brunettes? Shy or outgoing?” She smirks. “Asses or boobs?”  
  
  
“Well, I – I don’t know.” Another nervous laugh.  
  
  
She watches him carefully for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. “Or…maybe you’re just not into girls?”  
  
  
Louis’ head snaps up then, looking around at her with wide eyes. “You -  _what?_ ”  
  
  
She smiles. “I’m right, aren’t I?”  
  
  
Louis glances around at the deserted dirt road, and then sighs. “How did you know?” he whispers.  
  
  
She shrugs. “Just had a feeling.”  
  
  
“What do you mean?” he asks, his face warm.  
  
  
“Well…” she says, “I changed clothes in front of you and you didn’t even try to sneak a peek.”  
  
  
Louis sighs again, scratching at the back of his neck. “…I’ve never told anyone, before.”  
  
  
Louis doesn’t exactly remember when he realized that he wasn’t interested in girls like all of the other boys were back at the Home. There was never a defining moment, or some big, life-altering epiphany. It was just something he always felt, always knew. When they told him it was a sin, he knew it. When he prayed that God would make him straight, he knew it. And he knew it when he felt ashamed of it, lied to others, or to himself…but deep down, he always knew he liked boys.  
  
  
He’s never once said the words out loud before, preferring to keep it all locked inside, so it could weigh heavily on his chest, and keep him up at night. Admitting it now, even to just one person, he feels liberated, and at the same time, terrified. Barbara’s arms wrap around him then and he freezes, not used to being touched. “Hey, it’s no big deal,” she says soothingly. “Trust me, you’re not going to be the only person there who’s into the same sex.”  
  
  
He deflates a bit, sinking into her embrace. “Thank you,” he whispers.  
  
  
She lets go with a nod, picking up the pace of her feet. “We should hurry. Seems like you could  _really_  use another drink.”  
  
  
  
Faint noise from the party carries down the street just as Niall’s house comes into view at the end of the cul de sac. Every window is lit up, with rows of cars parked on the grass of the front lawn. The garage is open and there’s a game of beer pong going on inside. People crowd around the table while others line up at a large, metal keg, filling plastic cups to the brim with frothy beer.  
  
  
“God, I hope the neighbors don’t call the cops, again,” Barbara mutters as they reach the edge of the driveway, quickly fluffing her hair into place.  
  
  
Louis looks at her with wide eyes. “Will we get arrested?”  
  
  
Barbara giggles at that. “You’re so innocent,” she muses, shaking her head. “But nah, they just tell us to turn the music off and go to sleep. If we don’t, they’ll call our parents, or in our case, _Charlene_.” Barbara snorts, “like she would give a shit.”  
  
  
They weave through the cars in the driveway, bypassing a boy and girl kissing furiously against the hood of a red Toyota, her thigh hitched up around his hip. Circles of people gather near the front of the house, smoking and chatting, their voices loud and blurring together. Some of them call out to Barbara as they pass, while Louis follows timidly behind.  
  
  
Inside, the party is loud and animated and sort of messy. An endless stream of shouting and laughter carries above a bass of constant, thumping music. A strobe light hangs from the ceiling in the living room, flashing rhythmically while people dance and grind together in the middle of the floor. There’s people everywhere. They crowd into the rooms, linger in the hallways, pour themselves outside to get high in the backyard, hook up in the bushes. Louis recognizes some of the faces from school, but they’re much friendlier now, pink-cheeked and tipsy.  
  
  
They find Niall in the kitchen, sweeping up the glass shards of a broken beer bottle. He shakes his head. “This is why I stick with cans,” he says, dumping the shattered glass into a black trash bag. He stores the broomstick in a closet and comes back over to give Barbara a kiss, wrinkling his nose with knowing grin. “Started drinking without me, eh?”  
  
  
She sticks her tongue out at him. “So did you."  
  
  
He shrugs, moving to open up one of the cupboards. He comes back with a yellow, plastic pitcher. Dark liquid sloshes around menacingly inside. “Saved you some of my homemade punch, though,” Niall tells them. He pours it out into two plastic cups with some ice, offering one to Louis.  
  
  
Louis stares at it curiously, and then feels Barbara tap her cup against his before they take a few sips. The punch is mysteriously brown in color, tasting of cherries and black licorice.  
  
  
It’s not so bad, Louis thinks, as he pours the rest down his throat.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
Things have gotten a little out of hand.  
  
  
Louis doesn’t know how he managed to lose Barbara and the others, or how he ended up in the dining room with a bunch of people he doesn’t know. Everyone is either drunk or high or both, and Louis is definitely drunk.  
  
  
He leans back against the wall and watches as the others sit in a circle and play spin the bottle, like something out of a bad movie. A pretty brunette smirks when the mouth of an empty vodka bottle slows down and points to her. And then another girl is climbing into her lap and kissing her indulgently, tongues wet and twisting between their lips. All the boys start to cheer and howl like animals, and Louis grimaces, his head starting to hurt. He stumbles out of the room, searching for somewhere a little less crowded.  
  
  
It seems like a lost cause.  
  
  
The noise seems louder than before, somehow. Ringing inside his head. Maybe he should slow down, but by the time he realizes he’s had way too much, it’s too late. He’s drunk, and he’s messy, and he’s drunk. And he can’t find Barbara, or Niall, or Liam, and those are the only people he knows.  
  
  
Something doesn’t feel right. His heart is pounding against his chest like it’s trying like hell to escape, and his head is feeling way too light. His hands begin to shake. He recognizes this feeling, of course, but  _why now?_   _Why does this have to happen now?_ _  
  
  
_ He stumbles aimlessly through the house, surrounded by strangers. “Louis!” someone calls, but their voice is too far away.  
  
  
He looks up, and thank god, it’s Niall. He starts to weave through the crowd, but as he gets closer, the smile on his face disappears, quickly shifting into concern. “Shit, Lou. You alright?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, holding out his hands to try to keep himself steady. “T-think – think ‘m gonna be sick.”  
  
  
Niall immediately puts his arm around Louis’ shoulders, pushing through some people as he guides him out of the room. They pass by Liam in the hallway, his eyebrows rising when he sees them. “Go find Barbara,” Niall tells him, before pulling Louis into the bathroom. Some girls are chatting by the sink, and they quickly dart out of the room as Louis drops to his knees in front of the toilet, spilling his guts into the bowl.  
  
  
Niall sits on the edge of the bathtub, relatively unfazed as he chugs the rest of his beer. “That’s it, Louis. Just get it all out, you’ll feel better.”  
  
  
A moment later, Barbara steps into the bathroom with a furrowed brow, locking the door behind her. She sits down next to Niall on the tub, placing a comforting hand on Louis’ back. His hands shake as they grip the toilet, and then he plunges forward once again, vomit stinging the back of his throat.  
  
  
“Jesus, Louis,” Barbara says. “How much did you have to drink?”  
  
  
He shakes his head, focuses on breathing. “That punch – what was in it?”  
  
  
Barbara looks to Niall.  
  
  
“Uhh, it was Jäger, vodka, some cherry soda, and RedBull,” He says, ticking the list off on his fingers.  
  
  
“Fuck,” Louis groans.  
  
  
“What’s wrong?” Barbara asks.  
  
  
“Sorry,” he breathes. “Forgot to tell you but, ‘m not supposed to have energy drinks. They, uhm, they can trigger my panic attacks.”  
  
  
“Oh fuck, Louis. I’m sorry,” Niall says.  
  
  
Louis’ head pounds, so he closes his eyes and tries to regulate his breathing, tries to will the room to stop spinning, before he’s lurching forward once again, retching into the bowl. The bathroom smells strongly of alcohol and sick when he finally backs away from the toilet and slumps down against the wall. His whole body shakes, weak and tingling.  
  
  
Barbara hops up to rinse a washcloth in the sink, pressing it to Louis’ forehead and cleaning up his face. He shivers and then sighs in relief as the water cools on his fevered cheek, taking deep breaths to steady his heart rate. They wait until his shaking has calmed down a bit before they help him up from the floor, guiding him out of the bathroom.  
  
  
“I want to go home,” Louis whispers, and he hates that ‘home’ doesn’t exist for him.  
  
  
“It’s okay, Louis,” Barbara tells him. “Me and Niall will walk you back to Char’s, alright?”  
  
  
Louis nods, but he can tell that they’re both drunk, and he feels even worse for ruining their good time and making them leave the party because of him. They’ll probably never invite him to hang out again, after this. He’s too much of a liability, and they shouldn’t have to take care of him.  
  
  
He wishes he wasn’t so fucking pathetic.  
  
  
He looks guiltily up at Barbara, but for some reason she’s staring over his shoulder, her eyes focused on something behind Louis’ back. He slowly turns around, following the line of her gaze. And then, through the crowd, he sees him. Like tunnel vision. Louis’ heart skips a beat or two, and then sinks down low into the pit of his stomach…This boy is the  _last_  person he wants to see right now, when he’s all fucked up and shaking.  
  
  
“Harry!” Barbara calls. And before Louis can protest, she’s dragging him helplessly to Harry’s side.  
  
  
Harry looks around in surprise, before giving her a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “How are you, Barbara?”  
  
  
“Good,” she says, watching as he shrugs into a jean jacket, pulling his keys from his pocket. “You leaving?”  
  
  
He nods. “Yeah. Calling it an early night.”  
  
  
“Are you drunk?”  
  
  
He chuckles humorlessly. “I wish. Haven’t been here long enough to do any damage.”  
  
  
She bites her lip, glancing at Louis before her eyes move back to Harry once again. “Well…do you think you could give Louis a ride home? It’s not far, he lives at my house.”  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly as Harry’s gaze shifts to him for the first time, his eyes like pools of jade. And then he shrugs his shoulders. “Sure.”  
  
  
“Thank you!" She turns back to Louis then, pulling him into a quick hug. “You’re okay, right?” she whispers into his ear.  
  
  
He doesn’t say anything. On one hand, he’s relieved that she won’t have to leave the party because of him, but on the other hand…well, he’s a bit terrified at the thought of being alone with this boy. What if he makes a complete fool of himself - or  _worse_ , starts puking again? Still, he doesn’t want Barbara to worry, so he tries to silence his nerves, nodding his head with a reassuring smile.  
  
  
“Okay, cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” she calls. And Louis watches as she walks away, disappearing into the crowd.  
  
  
When he turns back around, Harry’s eyes are still on him, and Louis fidgets under his gaze.  
  
  
Harry inclines his head towards the front door. “Ready to go?”  
  
  
Louis nods, staying close as he follows behind the taller boy. He watches the way he easily makes his way through the crowd, his broad shoulders clearing a path. Several people call out to him as they pass by, mostly drunk girls. He seems to be very popular. And Louis knows that everyone must be wondering just what the hell he’s doing, leaving the party with some nobody like Louis.  
  
  
They step outside into the now deserted front yard, the night’s air warm as a bath and the moon hanging low in the sky. The noise from the party begins to fade as they silently weave through the cars parked on the grass, stopping when they reach the big, forest green truck on the side of the road. It sits up high on large tires.  
  
  
Harry opens the passenger door for Louis, still a bit unsteady on his feet. When he tries to climb up, his foot slips, and then there’s a large hand at his hip, catching his fall and giving him a boost. Louis startles at the feeling, and then it’s gone. His cheeks warm, and he watches through the back windshield as Harry circles around the truck, before climbing in behind the steering wheel. He smiles politely at Louis, and then revs the engine.  
  
  
It smells like a heady mixture of leather, spearmint, and cologne inside Harry’s truck. Louis finds that he kind of likes it. The windows are rolled down, and a rush of air ruffles the string of feathers and beads that dangles from the rearview mirror. Louis keeps stealing glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye, watching the way he drives, one hand on the steering wheel, palm open and fingers splayed, while the other is held loosely out the window. He keeps his eyes on the road, the corners of his full lips turned down in a slight frown. And Louis shifts in his seat, wishing he knew what to say, anything at all to make that sad look in Harry’s eyes disappear.  
  
  
When they pull up in front of Charlene’s house, the lights are out and her car still isn’t in the driveway. And suddenly it occurs to Louis that he doesn’t have a key to get inside. “Shit,” he breathes, then bites his lip. “Uhm. Shit, I forgot. I don’t have a key…”  
  
  
He looks hesitantly to Harry then, knowing that he was probably hoping to get Louis out of his truck as soon as possible, so he could get back to whatever it is he really wants to be doing. He feels embarrassed for being such a burden once again, especially on someone he doesn’t even _know_. Maybe he should just sleep on the lawn chair on the front porch, save the poor guy the trouble of having to deal with him.  
  
  
Surprisingly, Harry doesn’t seem to mind. His face is clear and open as he stares back at Louis. “Well, we could go back to the party and ask Barbara for her key, right? Or…” he shrugs. “If you want, you could hang out at my place.”  
  
  
Louis’ eyes widen a bit at that. He looks down at his lap, twisting his hands. “But – aren’t you – I mean, I thought you were going somewhere else now?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head. “No. Just home.”  
  
  
“Oh, well – uh—”  
  
  
Harry cuts him off. “Sorry. You don’t have to if you don’t want to—”  
  
  
“No, no, it’s just," he shrugs. "I just don’t want to bother you…”  
  
  
Harry gives him a bemused little smile. “You’re not bothering me. To tell you the truth, I don’t really want to be alone, right now.”  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly. “Oh,” he nods. “Okay.”  
  
  
They drive to Harry’s house in silence, the wind whipping through the window, and Louis is more nervous than he’s felt all night. He tucks his hands beneath his thighs to keep himself from fidgeting. The porch light flickers by the door when they pull up in front of the little yellow house, the windows dark inside. Harry turns his key in the lock and Louis follows after him, toeing out of his shoes, and wondering just how the hell he ended up here. He lingers by the door, unsure of what to do next, and averts his eyes from the dip in Harry’s back as he shrugs out of his jacket.  
  
  
Harry disappears down the hall then, walking back out a moment later with a t-shirt held in his hands. He offers it to Louis. “Here. You can wear this, if you want.”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow. “What do you—?” But then he stops, looking down at the front of his shirt to see that it’s stained with vomit. His face flames. “Oh, Jesus.” He quickly takes the shirt from Harry’s hands, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die from humiliation. “Thank you,” he whispers, looking at the floor with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Guess I must’ve looked pretty stupid, huh?”  
  
  
“Don’t feel bad. There wasn’t anybody there who’s never been sick at a party before,” Harry says with a shrug. “I reckon they were all too hammered to notice, anyway.”  
  
  
Louis looks up at him then. “Think so?”  
  
  
Harry nods, his smile surprisingly gentle, comforting. “The last time I partied at Niall’s, I woke up on the roof with no pants on. _T_ _hat’s_  embarrassing.”  
  
  
Louis laughs, looking back to the floor with a nod.  
  
  
Harry moves away then, walking towards the kitchen. “The bathroom’s down that hallway,” he says with a point.  
  
  
Louis mutters another ‘thank you’ before padding down the hall, still a little dazed. He flicks on the bathroom light, scowling when he sees his reflection in the mirror. His skin is clammy, eyes puffy and bloodshot. He washes his face with cold water, rinses his mouth out, and attempts to fix his fringe. Then he slips out of his soiled t-shirt, pulling Harry’s on instead. It’s black with  _Ramones_  printed across the front and it practically swallows Louis, the sleeves big around his arms and the hem reaching down to his thighs. It smells good, too.  
  
  
Louis turns to face the mirror, allowing himself a small, guilty moment to admire the way he looks in Harry’s clothes. And then he immediately scolds himself.  _He’s never going to like you, he’s never going to like you, he is never going to fucking like you._  With a sigh, he walks back to the living room.  
  
  
Harry is already there, sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand. He looks up at Louis, and then chuckles quietly. “Maybe I should have given you one of Zayn’s shirts, instead.”  
  
  
Louis freezes, looking down self-consciously. “What do you mean?”  
  
  
“Oh, it’s nothing bad. Mine is just a bit big on you, is all.”  
  
  
Louis feels the tips of his ears heat up just from having Harry’s gaze on him. He shakes his head. “This one’s fine,” he says, and then he slowly tucks himself on the opposite end of the couch.  
  
  
Harry points to a glass on the coffee table. “I got you some water,” he says. “Wasn’t sure what you’d like, but all we have at the moment is water and beer.”  
  
  
Louis smiles. “Water sounds perfect, actually, thanks.” He takes a few sips, grateful to soothe his raw, scratchy throat.  
  
  
Harry swallows a gulp of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He presses his mouth to the back of his hand, turning to look at Louis. “Do you feel any better?”  
  
  
“Uhm, yeah,” Louis murmurs with a nod. “Think so.” They lapse into silence then, Louis’ fingernail tapping against his glass. “…You have an accent,” he says after a moment, breaking the silence.  
  
  
Harry nods. “I do. It’s a bit different from the ones you hear around here, yeah?”  
  
  
“Where are you from?”  
  
  
“Holmes Chapel, originally. That’s in Cheshire. We moved here when I was about thirteen.”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow. “Why would anyone move _here?_ ” he asks, before he can stop himself.  
  
  
Harry doesn’t take offense though, just laughs. “A timeless question,” he laments with a nod. “For me, it was because of my step-dad’s work.”  
  
  
“Oh…Well, I like it. Your accent, I mean,” Louis says, and there’s _clearly_ still some alcohol swimming through his system. No way in hell he’d have this kind of courage if he were dead sober.  
  
  
“Thank you,” Harry says with a smile. He lifts the television remote then, pressing ‘play’ on the DVD menu. “Do you like  _American Beauty_?”  
  
  
“I’ve never seen it,” Louis tells him.  
  
  
Harry looks at him incredulously. “Really? Oh, man. Kevin Spacey is a legend! But we can watch something else if you want—”  
  
  
“No, no. This is fine,” Louis says quietly.  
  
  
He settles back against the cushions as the opening credits begin to play, his knees tucked up to his chest. He’s torn between focusing on the film, and reconciling with tonight’s strange turn of events. A few hours ago, when he stood in the bathroom watching Barbara curl her eyelashes, he never would have predicted that by the end of the night he’d be sitting on this couch, watching a movie with Harry. Occasionally, he hears him make a hushed comment beside him, the deep rumble of his laugh. Louis steals small glances at him each time, watching the soft glow from the television flicker across his face.  
  
  
At one point, Louis startles when Harry lets out a loud, cackling laugh, clapping his hand over his mouth to contain it. Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry looks up at him sheepishly, and then they’re both laughing, relaxing deeper into the couch, still an arm’s length apart.  
  
  
He turns his attention back to the movie, to a character named Frank. He’s a middle-aged man who spends much of the film making it clear how terribly homophobic he is. At one point, he tells his son that he would rather him be dead than be a 'faggot.' And Louis flinches at the word. He knows it's just a movie, but it still makes his stomach churn, knowing there's people like that in the world. People who would rather have a dead child than a gay one.  
  
  
It comes as a surprise towards the end of the film, when Frank tries to kiss another man.  
  
  
Louis' brow furrows at the scene, and he looks questioningly to Harry. “So, the whole time...he was gay?”

  
Harry nods solemnly. “Internalized homophobia. You know, in the original script he was supposed to have had a secret lover – a man who died in Vietnam, but it didn’t make the cut, in the end. A shame, really. I think it would have given more depth to his character.”  
  
  
Louis watches him curiously. “How do you know that?”  
  
  
Harry shrugs. “Anytime I watch a film, even if it’s shit, I read trivia about it. Just a habit, I guess.” His lips curl into a little grin as he meets Louis’s eyes. “Is that strange?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “Maybe a little bit.”  
  
  
Harry’s grin widens. “Well how about this: remember the part where Lester threw the plate of asparagus at the wall? Kevin Spacey improvised that scene.”  
  
  
“Okay, I stand corrected," Louis laughs, "definitely strange.”  
  
  
Harry smirks. “Laugh now, but if you ever end up on a game show featuring movie trivia, you’ll be wishing I’d shared my well of entirely useless knowledge with you.”  
  
  
Louis just shakes his head and turns back to the television, biting his lip to suppress a smile that’s threatening to split his face in half. He doesn’t want the movie to end, doesn’t want the sun to come up, doesn’t want this to be the first and last time he gets to sit with Harry like this, laughing together in the dark.  
  
  
  
When the ending credits begin to roll, Harry looks to Louis. “Did you like it?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Louis says, “I really did.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, and then they hear a small  _meow_  from somewhere nearby. A black cat with yellow eyes creeps out from the hallway, staring up at them inquisitively before hopping onto the couch. “Hello,” Harry says to the cat. “Are you well?” And Louis can feel his heart, practically  _melting_  inside his chest.  
  
  
“This is Graceland,” Harry tells Louis, nodding towards the cat on his lap.  
  
  
Louis quirks a brow. “Like, Elvis’ house?”  
  
  
Harry nods with a smile. "It's also the name of my favorite Paul Simon album," he murmurs, stroking his hand through her smooth, black fur. “Found her wandering around the streets when she was just a kitten. There’s a lot of strays around here. I want to bring them all home, but Zayn would probably murder me in my sleep.”  
  
  
Graceland steps over to Louis then, rubbing against his hand to get his attention. He scratches behind her ears, and she begins to purr, lovingly flexing her paws against his jeans.  
  
  
Harry smiles. “She likes you,” he says fondly. With a yawn, he stretches his arms up over his head, his shirt rising up a bit to reveal the V-line between his hips, the thin path of hair that trails from his navel to below his belt. And Louis flushes, quickly looking away. His eyes land on the digital clock of the cable box, 3:12 a.m.  
  
  
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Harry asks him then.  
  
  
Louis raises his brow. “It’s  _your_  house.”  
  
  
“Well, yeah. But, don’t want to be rude.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “I don’t mind.”  
  
  
Harry stands up to turn on the light then, disappearing down the hall. And Louis smiles as Graceland hops down from the couch, following after him with a whine.  
  
  
When Harry comes back, he has a small box in his hands. He settles down on the couch and lifts the lid, allowing the warm, sticky-sweet smell of pot to fill the air. Louis watches curiously as he pulls out a glass pipe, delicately hand-blown, and painted with pretty swirls of pink and lime green. He rips some buds off of a larger chunk of weed, dropping them into the bowl of the pipe. And then he raises his white Bic lighter, showing it to Louis.  
  
  
“You know, they say you shouldn’t carry white lighters? Supposedly, they’re bad luck.”  
  
  
“So are black cats,” Louis tells him.  
  
  
Harry smirks. “Don’t let Graceland hear you say that, her claws are razor-sharp.”  
  
  
Louis tucks his feet under his legs. “Why do you buy the white ones, then?”  
  
  
“Dunno,” Harry shrugs. “Guess if I’m gonna go, I might as well go in style.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head with a smile, sitting in a companionable silence while Harry smokes. He hears the flick of a thumb against metal, the sizzle of embers burning. He watches the deep inhale, the delayed pause, the smooth exhale. Harry sighs up at the ceiling, the smoke rising in clouds. After a few hits, he turns to Louis. “Would you like some?”  
  
  
“Uhm...I’ve never smoked before,” Louis admits, staring bemusedly at the pipe.  
  
  
Harry doesn’t seem surprised. “You don’t have to, just figured I should offer. Sharing is good karma.”  
  
  
Louis bites his lip. “…Could you teach me?”  
  
  
Harry turns his head to meet his eyes. “You want me to be responsible for your corruption?” he teases.  
_  
  
_ Louis shrugs. “Somebody has to."  
  
  
Harry studies him for a moment, and Louis can feel his heart rate speeding up in his chest.  
  
  
“Fair point,” Harry relents. He sits up, scooting closer to Louis and raising the pipe to his lips. “I’m going to light it for you, okay? And when I say so, inhale – just sip through this bit at the end like it’s a straw, yeah? And then like, swallow it, and try to hold it in for as long as you can. Okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, suddenly buzzing with nervous anticipation. He puts his mouth to the glass, still warm from Harry's lips, and watches as he flicks the lighter.  
  
  
“Okay…inhale.”  
  
  
Louis sips the smoke into his mouth, and it burns, but mostly, it’s just overwhelming. He tries to hold it in, but coughs only seconds later, embarrassed.  
  
  
Harry just smiles gently. “S'okay. Everyone coughs their first time.”  
  
  
Louis reaches for his water, taking a sip to clear his throat. “Can I – can I try again?” he asks.  
  
  
“Sure,” Harry says, adding another little bud to the bowl.  
  
  
Louis braces himself, inhaling slower, this time. He manages to hold in the smoke a few seconds longer than before, and by his third hit, he only lets out a single, tiny cough.  
  
  
“Fast learner,” Harry says with a smile. “But you probably shouldn’t smoke any more unless you want to get, like, really baked. Zayn’s shit is strong.”  
  
   
Louis sits very still, senses focused on the strange, tingling feeling that’s slowly coursing through him, lighting up his nerve endings. It’s indescribable, but he sort of likes it. He nods his head. “Think I’m good.”  
  
  
Harry takes one last hit and then packs everything neatly back into the box, setting it down on the table. Louis sinks deeper into the couch cushions, noticing that it’s suspiciously more comfortable than it was just moments before, like he’s hypersensitive to everything, every touch, sound, taste, and feeling. “Wow,” he whispers. “Now I see why Barbara likes this stuff so much.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, turning to lean back against the arm of the couch, facing Louis with his legs folded. Louis does the same on the opposite end, mirroring Harry. An inch closer, and their knees would be touching.  
  
  
“So you’re living at Barbara’s house, now?” Harry asks.  
  
  
Louis nods.

  
“Why’s that? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”  
  
  
“Well…Charlene - the woman we live with - she’s my new foster mother. And before that, I lived in a children’s home,” Louis says, still surprised to find himself sharing like this. He wonders if it’s because of the weed, or because Harry is so easy to talk to.  
  
  
Whenever Louis has told people this in the past, he's been met with pitying looks that always make him feel uncomfortable. But Harry listens without any apparent judgment, nodding his head. “Do you like it here?”  
  
  
Louis pauses, slightly taken aback by the question. It’s the first time anyone has bothered to ask him that. If he likes it here, if he's happy. And Harry probably doesn’t even realize how nice that is. He looks down at his lap to hide a smile, and then nods his head. “Uhm, yeah, actually. Thought it was going to be really shit but, s'not so bad. Barbara’s great, and Niall, and Liam.”  
  
  
_And you.  
_  
  
Louis bites his lip. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
  
Harry nods. “Sure.”  
  
  
“Why did you leave the party?”  
  
  
Harry’s lips twist into something that’s not quite a smile then. “My ex showed up with her new boyfriend.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Louis says, and then a little voice in the back of his head is hissing at him… _see, he doesn’t even like boys. He’s into girls._  “I’m sorry.”  
  
  
Harry shrugs. “It’s alright. I’m glad I left, actually…You’re easy to talk to, you know.”  
  
  
Louis feels his face heat, and he prays to god that Harry doesn’t notice.  
  
  
They spend the rest of the night talking, but it feels like no time at all for Louis. He learns that Harry is nineteen, born on the first of February, and that his favorite color is yellow. He takes classes at the local community college and has a part-time job at an automobile repair shop. He really likes music, and lists a bunch of bands as his favorites, some of which Louis has never heard of. He wishes instrumentals without lyrics were more appreciated. He’s very close with his family, but moved out of his mom’s house when he was eighteen because he wanted a bit more freedom. Now he splits the rent with Zayn, who’s been his best friend since seventh grade. What he wants more than anything is to travel, and if he could go anywhere in the world, he would probably choose Japan, or Sweden. He’s interested in supernatural phenomena; extraterrestrials and ghosts, but horror films give him nightmares. He likes mushrooms on his pizza with extra cheese and light sauce.  
  
  
Harry talks slow and carefully, like he's putting thought into each and every word, and Louis effortlessly hangs on to them all, like a lifeline. He learns things about him that Harry doesn't say, just from watching him. One of his dimples is more pronounced than the other, his lips are somehow naturally that pretty shade of pink, and he scratches at his nose a lot when he's thinking.  
  
  
Louis commits it all to memory, hoping that if he gets enough of Harry now, he'll be okay when the night turns into morning, and he has to leave this place. But he's never quite satisfied, never stops wanting more. And it's the most intriguing thing in the world. It's devastating.   
  
  
They talk until their eyes become tired and heavy, their voices quiet and rough. They both yawn at the same time, and when Louis looks over at the clock, he’s amazed to find that it’s almost 5 a.m. Harry stands up then, rolling his shoulders to crack his back.  
  
  
"Uhm-" Louis mutters, not sure what to do next.  
  
  
"I'll be right back," Harry tells him, padding down the hall to his bedroom. He reappears a moment later, rounding the corner with a pillow in his hands.  
  
  
"You don't mind sleeping here, right?" Harry asks.  
  
  
Louis flushes, timidly stretching out on the couch. "No, this is fine."  
  
  
Harry smiles down at him gently. “Lift up,” he says. And when Louis raises his head, Harry tucks the pillow underneath it. Then, he pulls a patchwork quilt off the back of the couch, draping it over Louis’ small form. “You need anything?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “I’m fine…Thank you, Harry.”  
  
  
“G’night, Louis,” Harry says, and then he turns out the light before going back to his bedroom.  
  
  
Louis curls up under the quilt, dozing off only moments after he closes his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, he smiles in his sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Some odd hours later, Louis wakes up on Harry’s couch. He startles at first, having forgotten where he fell asleep, before relaxing back against the cushions with a small sigh. Graceland is curled up by his feet, and he reaches out to scratch at her chin, earning a contented _purr_ from the feline. There’s some faint noises coming from the kitchen, and he stands up from the couch with a yawn, slowly padding across the carpet.  
  
  
He finds Harry in front of the open refrigerator, peering inside with his arm slung over the door. Louis shifts his feet, his toes cold against the tiles. It still feels strange for him to be in Harry’s house like this, to bare witness to the way he looks in the morning, extra soft and rumpled in a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants, his curly hair mussed up from sleep. For a moment, Louis thinks he could definitely get used to this, and then quickly reminds himself not to.  
  
  
Harry pulls out a carton of eggs and some butter, smiling when he turns around and finds Louis standing there. “G’morning,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

  
Louis smiles back, just a little shy. “Hi.”  
  
  
“I was going to make scrambled eggs, if you’d like some. Unless you need to be home soon? I can drive you whenever.”  
  
  
Louis just shrugs. “There’s no rush.”  
  
  
Harry nods, digging in the cupboard for a plastic bowl. “How are you feeling? Hungover at all?”  
  
  
Louis tiptoes closer to lean against the counter. “Have a bit of a headache, but I don’t feel nauseous or anything.” He crinkles his nose. “Think I got it all out of my system last night. Literally.”  
  
  
Harry smiles sagely, cracking the eggs against the side of the bowl. “Was that your first time drinking?”  
  
  
“Yeah. And, well,” Louis hesitates, twisting his fingers. “I, uhm, have panic attacks sometimes. And energy drinks tend to set them off, because they like, make my heart beat really fast and stuff. And I accidentally drank some RedBull, so that kind of made things worse, I guess.”  
  
  
Harry stirs the egg yolks with a fork, listening. “Was it Niall’s punch?”  
  
  
Louis nods.  
  
  
“Deadly stuff, that is,” Harry says with a smirk. “Illegal in seventeen states, probably.”  
  
  
"Is that what you drank when you ended up on his roof?”  
  
  
Harry laughs, that signature, cackling burst that Louis already loves. “No, actually. Tequila did that. Haven’t touched the stuff since.”  
  
  
Louis smiles, watching as Harry transfers the whisked eggs to a frying pan on the stove. He adds a scoop of butter, some salt and pepper. Then he prods at the pan with a spatula, expertly turning the eggs until they’re perfectly fluffed.  
  
  
“Barbara texted me, by the way,” Harry says, as he pours two glasses of ice water. “She must be home now, ‘cause she asked where you were.”  
  
  
“Did you tell her I was here?”  
  
  
Harry nods. “Hope that’s okay?”  
  
  
“Yeah, thanks. Just didn’t want her to worry.”  
  
  
Harry turns off the burner then, scooping the freshly scrambled eggs onto two plates, before carrying them over to the small, wooden kitchen table. They sit down across from each other in mismatched chairs. “Will your foster mother mind that you didn’t come home?”  
  
  
Louis scoops a bit of egg onto his fork, shaking his head. “It’s no big deal. She stays at her boyfriend’s house a lot, so Barbara and I are left alone most of the time, anyway.”  
  
  
“That must be nice,” Harry muses, sipping at his water.  
  
  
Louis nods in agreement. “I was worried they were going to place me with someone who was like, super strict. But Charlene doesn’t really care what we do, as long as we go to church on Sunday.”  
  
  
Harry smirks. “To repent for your sins?”  
  
  
Louis chuckles. “Yeah, suppose so.” He takes another bite, and then points down to his plate. “These are really good,” he says, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.  
  
  
And Harry thanks him with a grin.  
  
  
  
  
  
When they’ve finished eating breakfast, Louis watches old reruns of _Friends_ in the living room while Harry takes a shower. He has to remind himself not to get used to this, the luxury of being wrapped up in any part of Harry’s life. Because he knows it will all be over soon. Harry will go to work and Louis will go back to Charlene’s, and this bizarre dreamworld he's inadvertently landed himself in will come to an end. He needs to take a step back now, pull away before he gets too close. Because attaching himself to something he could never have would surely be a mistake.  
  
  
Louis _knows_ this, of course.  
  
  
But deep down, he also knows that it’s probably too late.  
  
  
Maybe ten minutes later, Harry unabashedly walks out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel draped around his waist, looking like he was sculpted from pure marble, his hair wet and dripping down his tatted chest and arms. Louis’ breath catches in his throat and he quickly looks away, feeling rather flustered. Thankfully, Harry doesn’t seem to notice. He disappears into his bedroom to get dressed for work, leaving Louis to blush and fidget on the couch.  
  
  
Louis tries desperately to focus on the toothpaste commercial on TV, but it’s no use. His mind is absolutely reeling, betraying him with relentless, intrusive thoughts…Harry smirking as he drops his towel, pushing Louis back onto the couch, his big hands around his waist, panting softly against his neck…He feels his cock twitching eagerly in his jeans and swiftly punches himself in the stomach. _No, no, no. Stop, fucking stop._  
_  
_  
Fortunately, he’s given a few minutes to collect himself before Harry walks back out, dressed in tight dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt, his hair tied with a bandana. And Louis feels guilty for thinking about him naked without his permission.  
  
  
Oblivious, Harry tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabbing his keys from the coffee table. “Ready to go?”  
  
  
Louis nods, but reluctantly stands up from the couch. Truthfully, he’s not ready to leave, yet. He thinks he’d stay here all day long if he could, just waiting for Harry to get back home from work.  
  
  
He’s probably, _definitely_ fucked.  
  
  
The drive to Charlene’s seems too short, and Louis doesn’t say much. In the back of his mind, there is an irrational fear that he’ll climb out of Harry’s truck and never see him again, that Harry will vanish into thin air as soon as he’s out of Louis’ sight. Because he really is too good to be true, and Louis already likes him too much.  
  
  
The tires crunch against gravel as they slow to a stop, and Louis opens the door. He hops down from the passenger seat, turning to look back at Harry. “Uhm—”  
  
  
“I’ll see you around, okay?” Harry tells him with a gentle smile.  
  
  
Louis nods, “okay,” he says, not wanting to sound too hopeful. He smiles before closing the door. “G’bye, Harry.”  
  
  
“Bye, Louis.”  
   
  
And then he drives away, his old truck disappearing down the flat, dirt road in a cloud of dust.  
  
  
  
Louis’ head is swimming as he steps up to the front porch, distracted, and before the screen door can even slam behind him, Barbara is there, pulling him into the house. “Louis!” she exclaims with bright eyes. “I can’t _believe_ you stayed the night with _Harry!_ ”  
  
  
Louis fish-mouths at her. “Wha – I didn’t, it’s not – _I slept on the couch_.”  
  
  
She ignores him, staring pointedly at his chest. “Oh my god, is that his shirt?”  
  
  
Louis looks down, and only then does he realize that he’s still wearing Harry’s Ramones t-shirt. It makes his stomach flutter embarrassingly for some reason. “Oh...well, he let me borrow it, ‘cause there was puke on mine.”  
  
  
“Bet it smells like him, huh? I _love_ wearing Niall’s clothes,” she indulges.  
  
  
He shuffles his feet. “Well, yeah. A bit.”  
  
  
Barbara doesn’t buy his nonchalance, though. She studies him closely, a knowing smile on her face. “…You like him, don’t you?”  
  
  
Louis fidgets, but he knows there’s no point in lying. The blush on his face is too obvious, giving him away without a fight. He sighs, shaking his head in defeat. “Just – it doesn’t matter, anyway,” he mumbles.  
   
  
She frowns. “What do you mean?”  
  
  
He hangs his head, his fringe falling over his eyes. “I’m so fucked,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t like him like this, Barbara. He’s _straight_.”  
  
  
She furrows her brow, chewing on her bottom lip. “…I don’t think he is, Louis.”  
  
  
He shakes his head in protest. “The whole reason he left the party last night was ‘cause he was sad that his ex showed up with her new boyfriend.”  
  
  
Barbara’s quiet for a moment, contemplating. “Well…it’s true that I’ve only ever known about him dating girls. But I could have _sworn_ I saw him kissing a guy at a party, before.”  
  
  
Louis just keeps shaking his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Doesn’t mean anything. He might have just been drunk. Besides, even if he is into guys,” he pauses, letting out another dejected sigh. “He would never like me, Barbara. I’m not – he wouldn’t – he’s just, way too good for me.”  
  
  
Barbara reaches out then, brushing at his arm soothingly. “Don’t be so down on yourself, Lou…You never know.”  
  
  
  
But Louis _does_ know. He’s known it from the moment he looked up into kind, green eyes, and felt his heart clench from a gentle, dimpled smile. It’s a truth that he’s known all along. Something like Harry could never work out for someone like Louis.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
  
The following Sunday morning, Louis goes to church with Charlene and Barbara. It’s smaller than the one back at St. Mary Magdalene’s, but the routine is much of the same. A collection plate for the homeless is passed around, and people who are in need of special prayers approach the altar. They sing the same songs, read the same scriptures. The reverend preaches on and on, until his voice graciously fades into white noise.  
  
  
Louis doesn’t quite feel welcome here. He never really does, in places like this. His greatest sin is already programmed into his very being, his DNA, whatever. He's not so ashamed of it anymore, but he can't help but look around at all of the people sitting in the pews, their heads bowed in prayer, and wonder what they would think of him, if they knew he fell asleep thinking about a boy, last night. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, and watches over Barbara’s shoulder while she plays PacMan on her phone to pass the time.  
  
  
Afterwards, Charlene takes them to McDonald’s for lunch; cheeseburgers and french fries, and strawberry milkshakes with whipped cream. She runs some errands in town and they tag along, to the bank, the post office, the supermarket, a department store. On the final stop, Charlene buys Louis an iPhone, and he can’t stop saying ‘thank you.’ He’s never had a phone, before. Barbara adds her number to his contact list, with an emoji of a pink tulip next to her name.  
  
  
Later that afternoon, he's left alone at Charlene’s house for the first time since he moved in. She's gone to her mother's house for the afternoon, and Barbara went to Niall’s. So, he sits in the living room, testing out the different settings on his new phone and downloading some free apps. He’s about to search for the television remote when something out of the front window catches his eye…a forest-green truck slowly pulling into the driveway— _Harry_.  
  
  
Louis’s mouth falls open, and then he’s scrambling up from the couch, running down the hall to the bathroom to comb his fringe in the mirror, making sure he looks okay. And then the doorbell rings, the most beautiful, welcoming sound, echoing through the quiet. His heart is pumping embarrassingly fast as he makes his way towards the front of the house, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He schools his face into indifference, and pulls open the door.  
  
  
Somehow, it’s still a surprise to find Harry standing on the front porch, soul-achingly casual in ripped jeans. He smiles, and Louis feels his knees buckle. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._  
  
  
“Hey, Louis.”  
  
  
“Hi," Louis says, and he _hates_ how quiet his voice comes out.  
  
  
Harry extends his arm. “I brought back your shirt. Washed it, and all.”  
  
  
“Oh, thank you,” Louis says, his cheeks warm as he quickly takes the shirt from Harry’s hands. “Erm, I’d give yours back, but I think it’s still in the wash. Sorry…”  
  
  
Harry waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
  
A dull silence follows his words, and Louis’s heart sinks. Obviously Harry didn’t come over to see him. Why the hell would he, anyway? He brought the shirt back because he’s a nice person, and now he’s going to leave again.  
  
  
“So,” Harry says then, “what are you doing?”  
  
  
Louis blinks, surprised by the question. He was expecting a goodbye. “Uhm. Nothing, really,” he tells him, wishing he had something more interesting to say. “Everyone went out, so I’ve just been hanging around the house.”  
  
  
Harry nods. “Well, I’ve gotta go pick up my check from work.”  
  
  
… _and here comes the goodbye._  
  
  
“…But then I was going to stop and get something to eat. Would you wanna come?”  
  
  
Louis gapes at him. _What?_  
  
  
Harry's looking up at him, shy and hopeful, and Louis quickly drops his gaze to the floor to hide his smile. He nods his head, “sure.”  
  
  
He tries not to get his hopes up, because he knows that all of Harry’s other friends must be busy if he’s settling for hanging out with Louis. Still, he slips his shoes on and locks the front door, following Harry to his truck.  
  
  
  
They drive into town with the windows rolled down, and Louis is still so surprised to find himself sitting in Harry’s passenger seat again that he doesn’t know what to say. Harry doesn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation, though. He just drums his hand on the steering wheel and turns up the music, a pretty song about a bird.  
  
  
“I’ll be right back,” Harry tells him, after they park in front of the autoshop where he works. Louis watches from the window as Harry makes his way towards the redbrick building. He’s slightly pigeon-toed, his shoulders hunched, but there’s still something graceful about the way he walks. He reappears a moment later with an envelope in his hand, stopping to chat with someone in the garage. He talks with his hands, throwing his head back when he laughs. He’s beautiful. Louis never stood a single chance.  
  
  
The sun is beginning to set as they pull into a local diner with a neon pink ‘open,’ sign flashing in the window. A bell chimes when Harry opens the door, holding it for Louis. They sit in a corner booth with red and white striped seats, and Harry reaches for the menus.  
  
  
“I like this place,” he says. “They serve pancakes all day long.” He looks up at Louis then, frowning when he realizes he hasn’t touched his menu. “You’re not eating?”  
  
  
Louis twists his fingers in his lap. “Oh. Well, uhm, I don’t have any money.”  
  
  
"So?" Harry smiles at him bemusedly. "I’ll pay for you.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that—”  
  
  
“Doesn’t matter if I don’t have to, I want to," Harry says with a shrug. "Plus, if you don’t eat, I won’t either, and then we’ll just be sitting here not eating anything, and the waitress will be pissed. Then she’ll spit in my food every time I come back here, and that would just be a dreadful chain of events. So you see, it’s very important to me that you order something,” Harry tells him with a teasing grin.  
  
  
Louis chuckles, sighing dramatically as he finally opens his menu. “Well, if you insist.”  
  
  
“Thank you,” Harry says with a smirk. “I highly recommend the pancakes.”  
  
  
  
  
The waitress brings them two fizzing Cokes and scribbles their orders onto a notepad before bustling back to the kitchen. Harry leans back in his seat then, looking up at Louis. “What did you do today?”  
  
  
Louis sips at his drink. “Nothing too exciting. My foster mother took us to church.”  
  
  
“Had a good time?”  
  
  
Louis frowns. “Not really…I’ve been going all my life, but the older I get, the harder it is to like, believe in everything? I think a lot of it is bullshit, if I’m honest.”  
  
  
“I know what you mean. My mom used to take my sister and me when we were kids. Not a lot, usually just on holidays and things like that,” he pauses, taking a sip of his Coke. “But at this point, I don’t identify with any one religion. I believe in a high power, but I can’t give a name to it, and it’s as simple as that. Mostly, I believe in karma. Good _and_ bad.”  
  
  
Louis nods as he listens. Harry is the most interesting person he’s ever met. “Wish it could be that simple for everyone,” he says wistfully.  
  
  
“That would be ideal,” Harry says, chuckling humorlessly. He brushes the curls out of his face, and Louis counts the silver rings on his long fingers.  
  
  
“What did you do after church?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “Just went shopping around town,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket then, showing it to Harry. “Charlene bought this for me.”  
  
  
Harry smiles kindly. “That was nice of her.”  
  
  
“Yeah. I’ve never had a phone, before.”  
  
  
“Gonna become a slave to technology with the rest of the world, now?” Harry teases.  
  
  
Louis laughs. “Not likely. I’ve only got one contact, and it’s Barbara.”  
  
  
“Can I see?” Harry asks, pointing to the phone.  
  
  
Louis shrugs, passing it across the tabletop.  
  
  
Harry taps at the screen for a moment, and then passes the phone back with a grin. “Now you have two contacts.”  
  
  
Louis blushes as he looks down at the screen and sees that Harry's sent himself a text message. He quirks his brow, glancing back up at him. “A _banana_ emoji?”  
  
  
He nods. “I like bananas.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, and his cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much, but he can’t help it. Harry just makes him feel so _nice_. It’s effortless.  
  
  
Minutes pass before the waitress comes back with their orders, stacks of pancakes topped with mixed fruit and little saucers of maple syrup. It’s the first time Louis can remember eating breakfast for dinner, and Harry was right, the pancakes really are delicious. When they’ve finished eating, he orders another round of Cokes, and they sit back in the booth, full and sated, talking until the night crowd begins to fill the diner. Afterwards, Harry pays the tab and Louis thanks him with a shy smile. And then they drive back to Charlene’s house.  
  
  
  
  
Later that night, Louis lies awake in bed, staring at the moonlight that filters in through the window. He rolls over to face the wall and closes his eyes, frowning at the thought of going back to school tomorrow. He wishes he could rewind and live this weekend over again, even the bad things, just so he could have the good things, too. And that’s when he hears his phone _ding_ twice on the bedside table.  
  
  
His eyes widen, caught off guard, and then he quickly rolls over, scrambling for the phone. He’s just received his very first text message, and his intuition knows whom it’s from before he even looks at the screen.  
  
  
  
_Goodnight :-)_  
  
  
  
Louis stares at the message in disbelief for a moment before burying his face into his pillow, smiling like a fool and kicking his little feet. It’s embarrassing, honestly, how badly his stomach is fluttering from a simple word and a smiley face, but it’s _Harry_. Harry sent him a text. A _goodnight text_.  
  
  
It takes him at least five minutes to reply because he keeps typing something only to panic and delete it. Finally, he bites his lip and presses send.  
  
  
  
_night :)_


	4. Chapter 4

High school is weird.  
  
  
People always say that it’s the best years of your life, but then every day feels more or less the same as the one that came before it, and not in a good way. As usual, Louis sits in the back corner of his algebra class, doodling aimlessly in the margins of his notebook and trying like hell to stay awake. Mr. Reynolds has a voice of painful monotone that could put the world to sleep.  
  
  
It’s a blessing when the lunch bell rings. Everyone files out of the classroom in relief, Louis trailing slowly behind the pack. The cafeteria food is awful, so he spends the two dollars in his pocket at the vending machines, buying a bag of chips and some orange soda. Then he crosses through the crowded courtyard where everyone hangs out at lunchtime, searching for Barbara.  
  
  
He finds her and Niall in their usual spot, sitting in a shaded, deserted area behind the gymnasium, their backs against the wall. Niall has his arm looped around her shoulders and they share a can of Pepsi and some chaste kisses, flirting easily. Louis hates to admit it, but watching them together makes him feel sort of lonely, sometimes. It must be nice to have a boyfriend.  
  
  
Liam is the last one to show up, dropping his backpack before sitting down with an excited smile. “Got some good news!”  
  
  
“You passed your chemistry test?” Barbara asks.  
  
  
He rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Well, no.”  
  
  
“What is it, then?”  
  
  
“My dad gave the ‘ok’ for the beach house,” Liam tells them, which is followed up by a small cheer from Barbara and a ‘fuck yeah,’ from Niall.  
  
  
“How are we going to get there?”  
  
  
Liam shrugs and unwraps his turkey sandwich, taking a bite. “I told Zayn and Harry about it. They said they’d take off work, so we can just pile in H’s truck like always.”  
  
  
Louis’ ears prick up a bit at the mention of Harry’s name, but he hopes the others don’t notice. Of course, Barbara is already watching him knowingly. “Do you wanna come with us, Louis?”  
  
  
He looks up from his bag of chips, feigning indifference. “To the beach?”

  
  
Barbara nods. “We’re gonna spend the weekend there.”  
  
  
Louis shrugs and nods his head. “Sure, sounds fun.”

The others start making plans for the trip then, debating what time they should leave and what kinds of food and alcohol they should bring, while Louis slips discreetly into his own train of thought. Thoughts of the ocean and sand, the hot afternoon sun, and, most nerve-wracking of all, a dimpled grin.  
  
  
Somehow, the weekend has never seemed so far away.  
  
  
  
*  
  
  
  
That Friday, Louis and Barbara stand under the shade of Charlene’s front porch with suitcases held in their hands, packed with three days worth of clothes and plenty of sunscreen. The September air is hot and a bit stifling, only a slight breeze rustling the wind chimes that hang from the porch rafters. Harry and the others should be there any minute now to pick them up and Louis can’t stop fidgeting, picking at his nailbeds.  
  
  
“Nervous?” Barbara observes.  
  
  
These days, it seems like Louis is always nervous. He sighs. “I don’t know what to do. How are you supposed to act around someone you like without them figuring out that you like them?”  
  
  
Barbara sets her suitcase down and fans a hand at her face, glancing impatiently down the dirt road. “Why don’t you just _tell_ him?”  
  
  
Louis gapes at her. “Why the hell would I do that?”  
  
  
Barbara giggles with a shrug. “Because he might like you back?”  
  
  
Louis resolutely shakes his head. “He doesn’t.”  
  
  
Barbara folds her arms, leaning back against one of the wooden pillars. “He sent you a goodnight text,” she reminds him pointedly.  
  
  
“That was one time,” Louis deflects, “Besides, what does it matter?”  
  
  
Barbara looks at him in exasperation then, as if it should be obvious. “It means he was thinking about you before he fell asleep.”  
  
  
Louis just shakes his head again, unconvinced. Harry doesn’t like Louis – he _couldn’t_ like Louis. Harry is a nice person, _beyond_ nice. The kind who will reach out to someone in need, even complete strangers, and offer them kindness without a catch. He must have noticed how lonely Louis is, the poor little orphan kid who moved to a new place and doesn’t know anybody. He simply saw someone who could use a friend, and was nice to him because he’s a nice person. That’s all there is. Louis is sure of it.  
  
  
He doesn’t tell Barbara this, it would just sound stupid if he said it out loud. There’s no time anyway, as just then, a forest green truck comes into view at the edge of the horizon, the tires kicking up sand. “Finally,” Barbara sighs, picking her suitcase back up. Louis follows her down the porch steps.  
  
  
The truck pulls onto the driveway and parks, the engine still rumbling lowly. Zayn waves from the passenger seat, just as the driver-side door opens, and Harry steps out. He smiles, and Louis is so, so fucked.  
  
  
They follow him around to the back of the truck, and Harry lowers the tailgate. There are towels and blankets spread out on the floor of the truckbed, suitcases and a cooler stacked in the corner. Liam and Niall smile at them from where they’re lounging back on the blankets. Niall crawls over to the edge and reaches for Barbara’s bag, helping her climb up.  
  
  
Harry turns to Louis, taking his suitcase off his hands and tucking it into the corner. “How are you, Louis?” he asks.  
  
  
“Oh, good, yeah. Thanks,” Louis says, and then he mentally kicks himself for muttering like an idiot.  
  
  
Harry helps him up into the bed of the truck then, his hand ghosting at Louis’ back. And Louis tries not to flush as he crawls forward to sit next to Liam, making himself comfortable for the drive.  
  
  
They head east towards the beach, winding through the countryside with the wind whipping at their hair. Smoke from Zayn’s cigarettes spills out from the open windows, along with some soft music, ranging from Led Zeppelin to Sublime. They pass acres of cattle ranches and citrus groves, deserted pastures and old farmhouses. It’s an hour into the drive before they pull over on the side of the highway and park, climbing out to stretch their legs.  
  
  
The six of them wander down a hill and into the shaded groves, picking fruit from the trees, yellow and orange blooming bright against the brush. “Hope these are blood oranges,” Liam says, tugging at a branch, “those are the best.”  
  
  
The ripest ones are up high on tall branches, and Louis jumps up with an extended arm, his fingertips barely grazing against what looks to be a perfectly ripe orange, _just_ out of his reach. He startles when Harry steps up from behind and picks it, the fruit looking almost small held in his large hand. He offers it effortlessly to Louis.  
  
  
“Thanks,” Louis says, his voice annoyingly quiet.  
  
  
They keep walking until they come across a farmhouse off to the left of the groves, with a small goat pasture attached, held inside a square pen. The goats step up to the brown picket fence they’re housed in, _baww_ ing noisily. “Aww, look at the babies,” Barbara coos, pointing to the smaller goats that approach on knobby legs, their coats ranging from fluffy white to soft brown or spotted black. They poke their heads through the fence, staring up at them curiously with roaming eyes.  
  
  
There’s a bag of feed hanging from the gate and they each grab a handful, kneeling down to feed the goats. While the others gather around the babies, Harry carries his handful over to an older goat, standing alone and a bit further away from the others. Louis smiles, and follows after him.  
  
  
“I’ll be honest, I’ve never fed a goat before,” Louis tells him.  
  
  
Harry chuckles. “It’s pretty standard around here. There’s lots of farms.” He holds his hand out and the goat peeks its head through the fence, eating the feed from his palm and letting Harry scratch behind its ears. Then he steps back and lets Louis have a turn.  
  
  
Louis eyes the goat warily. “Er – he’s not going to bite me, is he?”  
  
  
“It’s a she,” Harry smiles. “And no, just hold your palm flat, like this,” he says, demonstrating.  
  
  
So Louis flattens his palm, wrinkling his nose at the strange, tickling sensation as the goat feeds from his hand.  
  
  
Afterwards, they rinse off their hands using a bucket of water from a nearby well and head back through the groves, Harry and Louis trailing slightly behind the others. Their hands brush together as they walk, and Louis is quick to pull his away, ignoring the pesky butterflies that never seem to relent whenever Harry is around.  
  
  
Something feels…different, somehow. There’s tension, but not in a bad way. It’s like they’re both hyperaware of each other’s presence, as if there’s some sort of magnetic pull between them that they’re both pretending not to notice. They turn their heads to look, catch the other staring back, and then quickly look away again. Louis isn’t sure how to describe it, but he knows it’s probably all in his head, anyway.  
  
  
“It’s kind of nice how quiet it is out here,” Harry says after a moment, breaking the silence.  
  
  
Louis nods, glancing back over his shoulder at the farmhouse, growing smaller in the distance. There’s a light on upstairs. “Can’t imagine living in one of those, though.”  
  
  
“Why not?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “Too many horror movies take place in a house in the middle of nowhere.”  
  
  
“Doesn’t bother me,” Harry grins. “I don’t watch horror movies, remember?”  
  
  
“Yeah, I remember,” Louis says, quietly. He bites back a smile when thinks about the night they stayed up until it was nearly sunrise, just talking. It’s something only they shared, only they know. “They give you nightmares.”  
  
  
When they make it back to the truck, Harry helps Louis climb up into the bed again, his hand a warm weight on his hip, this time. And Louis relishes in the brief, fleeting feeling, long after it’s gone.  
  
  
*  
  
  
The tide is high by the time they reach the coastline, the waves crashing into each other before spilling out onto the shore. The beach is nearly deserted this late in the day, save for the occasional jogger, or couples walking with their hands intertwined. Louis hops out of the truckbed, digging his toes into the plush, warm sand. It’s been years since he’s been to the beach.  
  
  
The others chat excitedly as they strip down to their swimsuits, and Louis fidgets before reluctantly pulling his own t-shirt up and over his head. He wears a dark blue tank-top underneath and leaves it on, not quite comfortable being so bare.  
  
  
The sun hangs low in the sky but is still blazing hot, bathing the surface of the water in shimmering gold. Zayn beckons them with his hand and they all break into a run, heading straight for the surf. The waves rise and fall against them, the water cold and tinged with salt. They swim against the current, Barbara shrieking and giggling as Niall splashes her playfully.  
  
  
When the water is waist-deep, Harry dives in headfirst, a little less than gracefully, his long legs stretched out behind him. He resurfaces a moment later with a grin, tossing his head back so his hair falls to his shoulders, wet and dripping like a mermaid’s.  
  
  
They press forward into deeper waters, the lethal pull of the undertow drawing them in. Louis has some slight trouble keeping up with the others, being the shortest and the least experienced at swimming. His feet can no longer touch the floor without his head being submerged, and the waves crash into him like clockwork, one after another. He begins to fall behind, embarrassed when Harry suddenly pauses and turns around, seeking him out with a furrowed brow.  
  
  
He smiles softly, wading back over to Louis’ side. “You okay?”  
  
  
Louis wrinkles his nose, kicking his legs to keep afloat. “Think I just swallowed saltwater, actually.”  
  
  
Harry laughs and turns around, giving his back to Louis. “Climb up,” he says.  
  
  
Louis falters. “W-what?”  
  
  
“Climb up, I’ll carry you.”  
  
  
“Harry—”  
  
  
“C’mon, I’m not about to let you drown,” Harry teases gently.  
  
  
Louis hesitates, staring at the droplets of water sprinkled on Harry’s broad shoulders, drifting down his spine. He really doesn’t know how on Earth his nerves will ever survive through this day. Slowly, he gives in, placing his hands on Harry’s shoulders as he hoists himself onto his back, his legs wrapping around his waist.  
  
  
“Jesus, Lou. You’re so light,” Harry chuckles. And Louis hides his face in the back of his shoulder, his cheeks a bit pink.  
  
  
They wade out to join back up with the others, and Barbara’s eyebrows practically touch her hairline when she sees Louis wrapped around Harry’s back. She smirks at him over Harry’s shoulder and then turns away, whispering something in Niall’s ear. Niall just nods his head and then they both swim away to surf with Liam and Zayn, leaving Harry and Louis alone in the deep.  
  
  
It’s possible that Louis could stay like this forever, if he had the choice. So dangerously close to Harry he’s breathing in hints of his cologne through the spray of saltwater, something spicy and warm. His hair is wet and soft, the ringlets of curls tickling at Louis’ chin whenever he turns his head. The surrounding water is cold, but Harry practically radiates body heat. It seeps into Louis’ skin and keeps him warm.  
  
  
“This is gonna be a big one,” Harry murmurs after a moment, nodding towards a billowing wave. “Hold on tight.”  
  
  
Louis locks his arms around Harry’s neck, flinching in surprise when Harry’s hands hook underneath his knees, holding him in place. Harry bends slightly before jumping in tandem with the wave, letting the water carry them wherever it pleases, pushing and pulling with the current. They laugh as two more waves crash against them, carrying them further and further away from the others, Louis still held tight to Harry’s back.  
  
  
The waves still once again and Harry touches back down to the floor, the water reaching the middle of his torso. He doesn’t let go of Louis’ legs. Instead, he keeps his hands there, hooked in the gap beneath his knees, just holding. It’s so, so quiet, and Louis feels it again – that _tension_. So overwhelming he thinks maybe Harry can feel it, too.  
  
  
A strong wind billows through and Louis shivers. His arms tighten around Harry’s shoulders, clinging to his warmth. And then Harry’s hands begin to move, his fingertips brushing tiny little circles against the underside of Louis’ thighs, the sensitive spot behind his knees. The touch is hesitant and unsure, barely there and questioning, as if he’s testing for a reaction – asking for _permission_.  
  
  
Louis’ heart is absolutely thrumming against his ribcage by now. He wonders if Harry can hear it. He swallows his nerves, tipping his chin to rest his forehead against the back of Harry’s shoulder, communicating without words, just touches… _Go ahead_.  
  
  
At that, Harry moves again, the tips of his fingers brushing at Louis’ thighs with gentle, lingering touches, featherlight and innocent, nails scratching softly. Louis closes his eyes, senses acutely focused on the feel of Harry’s hands on him. Their skin is slickened and slippery where it’s pressed together, Louis’ tummy held against the small of Harry’s back. He shivers almost imperceptibly, exhaling against the nape of Harry’s neck. And he watches in awe as goosebumps sprout up across the skin there. _Louis_ did that. He actually gave Harry goosebumps.  
  
  
Harry glances over his shoulder at him, speaking for the first time in what feels like ages. “You okay?” he whispers.  
  
  
Louis nods, leaning in even closer so his chest is pressed flush to Harry’s back, sharing warmth.  
  
  
The corner of Harry’s lips turn up a bit before he faces forward again, his hands giving Louis’ thighs a gentle squeeze.  
  
  
Louis has no idea how long they stay like that. It could be hours that feel like mere minutes for all he knows. He doesn’t want it to end. He keeps waiting for the moment when Harry will finally put him down, tell him he's getting bored and going to surf with the others. But the moment never comes.  
  
  
They don’t talk much, just cling to each other, Harry’s touch still burning into his skin while the water splashes around them softly, lapping at their sides. They watch as the sun drifts out of sight in a rush of golds and pinks, leaving them in a pale blue dark. Eventually, they hear the others calling in the distance, their silhouettes wading towards the shore. Without a word, Harry turns and heads back, carrying Louis the whole way. He doesn’t set him down until they’ve reached the truck, and Louis shivers at the loss of touch.  
  
  
He wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting more.

  
  
*   
  
  
  
  
  
The beach was beautiful at night. Miles of open sky stretched on without interruption, the scattered stars and low-hanging moon reflecting across the rippled surface of the ocean. They sat in a circle around a firepit built in the sand, passing around a bottle of cinnamon whiskey, getting tipsy and laughing at nothing. Louis sat by Harry’s side, their knees touching.  
  
  
At one point, Niall dug a guitar out of the back of the truck and started strumming a tune that Louis didn’t recognize. And then Harry began to _sing_. And if Louis wasn’t already totally gone for the boy before…well, there was simply no hope for him, now. Harry’s voice was pure honey; warm and pretty, resonating from somewhere deep inside his chest. It made Louis’s heart swell, made his eyes drift shut just to focus on the sound. He wanted to bottle it up, keep it with him forever. He hadn’t realized that one single person could be so endlessly endearing, until he met Harry Styles.    
  
  
He gulped at the whiskey, felt it flood through his veins as he fell back against one of the towels, stretched out behind them in the sand. He looked up at the sky and wondered how he ended up here, thought of all the places he’d been before.  
  
  
Less than two weeks ago, he would have been lying back on a thin mattress, staring up at a top-bunk instead of a sheet of stars. It was difficult to sleep in a room with five other boys. There were always the restless ones whispering until after hours, the ones rutting into their sheets, helpless to their wet dreams. Across the hall was the ‘Under-Four-Ward,’ a room where abandoned babies and toddlers whined and screeched night and day, crying for mothers who would never return.  
  
  
Louis knew the feeling.  
  
  
He thought of the other kids back at the home. Jessica, who was born addicted to heroin; Lucas, whose mother threw him away shortly after giving birth; Ricky with schizophrenia. Louis wondered what they were doing now, if they were okay. If any of them would ever really be okay. He felt almost selfish lying there, listening to the waves, feeling perfectly content. Like he didn’t deserve it, while there was still so much pain in the world.  
  
  
  
  
Harry lay back beside him then, sharing the towel, his chest rising and falling with each breath. And Louis could _feel_ his eyes on him, watching him calmly, and his skin prickled with anticipation. He slowly turned his head, meeting the other’s gaze.  
  
  
“Hi,” Harry said.  
  
  
“Hi,” Louis whispered back.  
  
  
“You okay?”  
  
  
Louis nodded. “Never been to the beach at night, before. S’nice.” He took another sip of the whiskey, his eyes falling closed. “And this stuff is makin’ me sleepy.”  
  
  
Harry chuckled, taking the bottle from Louis and raising it to his own lips. “Can’t fall asleep, yet. The real party doesn’t begin until we get to the beach house. And Niall has a propensity for pouring ice water on anyone who falls asleep before three a.m.”  
  
  
Louis looked back at him and shook his head, the liquor making him brave. “You wouldn’t let him do that to me.”  
  
  
Harry held his steady gaze, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Like he was taken aback by Louis’s confidence, and he liked it. Then he shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, still smirking as he lifted the bottle to his lips once again. “You’re probably right.”  
  
  
Louis watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he drank, the firelight casting a warm, flickering glow across his face. He felt the blood pulse in his fingertips, practically itching with the need to reach out and _touch_. But he quickly banished the thought.  
  
  
His eyelids felt heavy; the rush of waves and soft crackling of the fire slowly lulling him to sleep. He rolled onto his side, facing Harry, tucking his hands under his head to use as a pillow. And his eyes fell closed with a contented sigh.   
  
  
His skin prickled once again when he felt Harry scoot closer, gently lifting Louis’s head and tucking his own arm underneath, so that Louis’s cheek could rest on Harry’s bicep. And Louis held his breath, powerless against the rush of excitement that was coursing through him at having Harry so close—any closer and he could rest his head on his chest, listen to Harry’s heart. Find out if it was beating anywhere near as hard as Louis’s.  
  
  
He bit his lip to hold back a smile. “Thought I wasn’t allowed to fall asleep,” he whispered.  
  
  
Harry shrugged, the smooth slab of his muscle flexing against Louis’s cheek. “Who am I to deny you of what you want?”  
  
  
And Louis could positively _scream_.

 _  
  
You. I want you. Only you.  
  
_  
  
He doesn’t say anything.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It feels like only seconds have passed when he’s being gently shaken awake, Harry’s voice soft in his ear. “Lou…we’re leaving now.”  
  
  
Louis yawns and opens his eyes, startling a bit when he finds himself tucked inside the crook of Harry’s arm. He quickly pulls away, embarrassed, and rubs the sleep from his eyes as he sits up.  
  
  
Niall is already standing, the firelight casting shadows in the sand behind him. He finishes off the rest of the whiskey before tossing the empty bottle away. “Alright,” he calls, clapping his hands together. “One more dip in the ocean before we go. Who’s with me?”  
  
  
And with the exception of Zayn (“fuck that, it’s fucking freezing”), everyone joins in, laughing as they charge towards the water, shrieking and cursing when the cold spray hits their skin. The winds have picked up, causing the waves to tumble and crash into one another harder than ever, a repetitive wash billowing from somewhere in the deep.  
  
  
They grit their teeth and plunge further, reckless and free, their voices getting lost and the liquor keeping them warm. Louis can only make out their shadows in the dark, but he can still hear Niall’s hollering from somewhere nearby, Barbara’s giggles, Liam’s nervous admonitions, and Harry’s beautiful, cackling laugh.  
  
  
A massive wave plunders through then, tossing them all in different directions, the undertow pulling Louis down and out to sea. He kicks hard towards the surface after it passes, inhaling deeply when he finally breaks through. Everything is visceral. The blood thrums in his veins and the air is cold in his lungs. He tosses his head back, feels his wet hair slap against the nape of his neck as he smiles up at the moon. And he feels something he hasn’t felt in a very long time… _Alive_.  
  
  
And then, through the dark, he hears the distinctive sound of water sloshing behind him, slowly drawing closer – the sound of someone approaching. And he knew it was Harry.  
  
  
  
It was always Harry.  
  
  
  
Slowly, Louis turns around, his body wracked with shivers that have little to do with the cold. He still feels his breath catch in his throat when he finds Harry standing in front of him, his body heat radiating towards Louis’s through the water, pulling him in, taunting him like a ghost. The pale moonlight falls across his face, and when Harry looks at him, Louis _swears_ that the world stops. Or maybe that’s just his heart.  
  
  
He stands as still as his shivering body will allow when Harry slowly raises his hand, reaching out to rest against Louis’s neck, his thumb brushing at his jaw. And Louis is frozen, too afraid to move, terrified that whatever’s happening right now will stop. His nerves balance on a thin wire as Harry steps even closer, crossing inches between them that feel like miles, always leaving Louis wanting more.  
  
  
Louis isn’t breathing when Harry ducks his head, bringing their faces close. He nudges at his cheek with his nose, feathered breaths warm against his chin.  
  
  
“This okay?” Harry whispers, his voice quiet and unsure.  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly, shaking with nerves as he nods his head. He licks his lips, makes a silent prayer that he isn’t dreaming. And then Harry's lips are pressing softly against his own.  
  
  
The kiss is slow and hesitant, a tentative brush of lips. A brief moment passes and then Harry pulls back a bit, giving Louis a chance to change his mind. But it’s far too late for that. Even if Louis _did_ have a choice in the matter, he would still choose Harry every time. He knows he would.  
  
  
He leans in closer and tilts his chin, silently urging Harry to capture his lips once again. And Harry takes it as the go ahead, his fingers threading through Louis’s hair as he locks their mouths together. It’s Louis’s first kiss, and it’s _everything_. Toes in the sand, lips like cinnamon, a canopy of stars as his only witness. He’s not entirely sure what to do with his mouth, his lips, his tongue, but Harry guides him easily, full lips tugging at Louis’s thin ones, coaxing them apart. Harry’s tongue slips inside then, gentle and unassuming, and he hums lowly when he feels Louis flick back against it, testing, tasting.   
  
  
And if Louis doesn’t kiss anyone else for as long as he lives, he thinks that would be okay with him.  
  
  
Harry’s hand drifts down his back then, gripping possessively into his hip. Their skin slides together, wet and slippery, bodies trembling as they leach warmth from one another in the cold, surrounding sea. Harry pulls away to take a breath, his forehead pressed against Louis’s. His eyes are closed, as if he’s struggling to hold himself back. “Lou…?” he breathes. But Louis doesn’t give him a chance to think. He reaches up, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck, and pulls himself flush against his body.  
  
  
He feels Harry shudder against him and then there’s hands cupping the back of his thighs, lifting him off his feet. His legs lock easily around Harry’s waist as their mouths clash once again, hungry for it, thirsting for more now that they’ve had a small taste. The waves keep crashing around them, but Louis can’t feel a thing. All he knows is Harry lips, Harry’s tongue licking into his mouth, and the soft sounds that pass between them. He never wants to forget.  
  
  
It isn’t long before their names are being called somewhere in the distance, carrying just above the howling wind. They break apart, breathing unsteadily against each other’s lips. Their eyes meet, green finding blue in the dark, and a look of slight disbelief is shared between them. Like they can't believe they just  _kissed_. Louis whines, not ready for it to be over, and Harry chuckles, pecking his lips one last time. He turns and walks back towards the shore, still cradling Louis in his arms.  
  
  
The others are busy putting out the fire when they make it back, completely oblivious, while Harry sets Louis down in the passenger seat of his truck. He digs a towel out of the back, smiling softly as he drapes it around Louis’s shoulders for warmth. The others climb into the bed of the truck, happily intoxicated, while Harry takes his place behind the steering wheel. And then they drive away.  
  
  
  
It takes less than two minutes to get to the beach house, and Louis bites his lip the whole time, holding back a smile that threatens to split his face in two. But then he steals a glance at Harry out of the corner of his eye, and he realizes that he’s smiling, too.  
  
  
They don’t talk, too pliant and sedated, drunk on whatever it is that exists between them, now. And through the quiet, Pink Floyd echoes from the speakers, something soft, something perfect. Louis slips his hand out of the open window, feels the wind trickle between his fingers. And he says goodbye to his heart.

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
The beach house was a pretty two-story colonial, less than a mile from the ocean shore. It looked expensive but cozy, and Louis had never been anywhere so nice in all his life. Harry parked his truck in the driveway and the six of them stumbled towards the door, giggling and feeling good, still drunk off the whiskey, high off the night. It was dark and cool inside the house, slightly musty, as if it hadn’t been inhabited for a long time, but they quickly flicked on the lights and filled it with life, dropping their suitcases in the bedrooms and taking turns in the showers before changing into pajamas, kicking back and getting comfortable.  
  
  
Louis went last, sighing in relief as he rinsed off any lingering saltwater and sand under the hot shower spray. Afterwards, he crept into one of the empty bedrooms and dug a clean pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his overnight bag, slipping them on. He stood in front of the mirror, combing his wet hair into a fringe, when he heard a knock on the bedroom door.  
  
  
“Come in,” he called, dropping the comb back into his bag.  
  
  
Barbara slipped into the room then, discreetly closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it, giving Louis a knowing smirk. “So…” she began, “what happened?”  
  
  
He quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”  
  
  
“Oh, come  _on_ , Louis. I’m not blind! Something must have happened.”  
  
  
He shrugged his shoulders, averting his gaze. Was it okay to tell her? Would Harry want to keep it a secret? He just didn’t know. But there was clearly no use in hiding anything from Barbara’s watchful eye, and truthfully, he could really use some advice right about now. He sighed, his lips curving up into a tentative smile. “He – well, he kissed me.”  
  
  
Barbara’s jaw dropped open a bit, and her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I  _knew_  it. I  _told_  you he liked you!”  
  
  
“Shh!” Louis hissed, flapping his hand at her. “Keep your voice down, they’ll hear you.”  
  
  
She giggled, pushing away from the door to join Louis where he stood in front of the mirror.  
  
  
“Besides,” he continued with another sigh, his voice low. “I don’t – okay, so he  _might_  like me. But maybe not, you know? That kiss might have been just a one-time thing. Too much whiskey, and all that.”  
  
  
Barbara looked at him skeptically. “But Louis, I saw you two today. Don’t you think he was being kind of cuddly with you  _before_  we started drinking?”  
  
  
That gave Louis pause. He thought of the ocean, the low-hanging sun, his chest pressed close to Harry’s back…Harry’s hands on his legs, his fingertips brushing at the skin of his thighs…things that could definitely be considered more than friendly touches. And his heartbeat sped up a bit just from the memory of it all.  
  
  
“Well…yeah,” he admitted. “But this – nothing like this has ever happened to me before, Barbara. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.”  
  
  
She shrugged, smoothing one of her eyebrows into place with a fingertip as she gazed at her reflection.  “Just play it cool and see what happens.”  
  
  
They heard Niall’s voice calling from downstairs, then.  _“Barbara! Two minutes until round two!”_  
  
  
She rolled her eyes fondly and tugged at Louis’s elbow, pulling him from the room. “Come on, they’re waitin’ for us.”

  
  
  
They found the others downstairs in the kitchen, chatting as they picked through bags of snacks and stocked the refrigerator with soda pop and cheap beer. Harry sat up on the counter by the sink, his long legs dangling over the side. He looked up at Louis as he padded around the corner, giving him a small smile before turning his attention back to a conversation with Zayn and Liam.  
  
  
Louis stayed close to Barbara’s side, still a little shy. She had told him to play it cool, but how was he supposed to do that when he wasn’t entirely sure how to act around Harry, now? There had been a change in the tides between them, something that hadn’t been put into words. It was brand new and terrifying delicate, and Louis didn’t know what any of it meant. He had never been here, before. Not with anyone.  
  
  
He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts as a cup was pushed into his hands, smelling distinctly of liquor, and something tropical. “For your nerves,” Barbara whispered with a wink. He took a grateful sip, watching as she poured blackberry vodka into a row of shot glasses, before carefully passing them around the kitchen to the other boys.  
  
  
They all gathered around in a circle then, raising their shots in the air. “Cheers to a good night,” Niall said, as they tapped their glasses together.  
  
  
“Cheers!”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
By 2 a.m., everyone is drunk.  
  
  
At one point, Niall and Barbara mysteriously disappeared into one of the bedrooms together, leaving the others to play beer pong on the dining table, with signature red cups arranged in triangle formations, Zayn and Harry versus Liam and Louis. Zayn has a natural skill for the game, calculating each shot, while Harry doesn’t seem to try and makes most of the cups out of sheer luck. Liam is fiercely competitive and probably the best of them all, while Louis has never played before and is easily the worst.  
  
  
…Plus, he finds that it’s  _rather_  difficult to focus on his aim when he can feel Harry watching him from across the table, smiling at him shyly, the brightest green eyes he’s ever known. It’s not fair to the game, really.  
  
  
  
And really, he doesn’t mind at all.  
  
  
  
After three rounds, they switch teammates, and Louis tries to keep his face indifferent when Harry moves to stand beside him, an absolute vision in flannel pajama pants, a faded Rolling Stones t-shirt, and bare feet, his toes curling against the carpet. And Louis wonders when exactly it happened; when he started noticing things about Harry that he would never bother to notice about anyone else.  
  
  
Harry takes the first shot, sinking the little white ball into the back corner cup with ease. And Zayn grimaces as he pulls it out, chugging the beer without taking a breath. Louis goes second, his cheeks pink from the mix of drinks he’s had so far, and when he throws the ball, it drastically misses the cups.  
  
  
His lips twist into a half-smile as he looks sheepishly up at Harry. “Probably should’ve apologized in advanced for being so shit.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re not shit, Lou. You’re a work in progress.”  
  
  
When Liam and Zayn both make their next shots, Harry offers to drink Louis’s beer for him since his tolerance is so low from being new to drinking. And Louis says a quiet ‘thank you,’ and tries not to think about how Harry treats him like a boyfriend, tries not to imagine how nice that would be.  
  
  
On their next turn, Louis is hardly prepared when Harry suddenly leans in close to him, gently bringing his hand to the small of his back. His skin prickles, senses buzzing in delight at having Harry touch him, again.  
  
  
“Try to aim for the center instead of a specific cup, yeah?” Harry tells him, his voice soft.  
  
  
Louis nods his head, his belly fluttering pitifully when Harry doesn’t pull his hand away, leaving it instead to rest just above the curve of Louis’s bum. Louis raises his arm and takes Harry’s advice, aiming for the center of the cups. And he  _almost_  makes it, but then the ball bounces off of the rim at the last second.  
  
  
“See,” Harry praises, his fingertips lightly curling into Louis’s hip. “Work in progress.”  
  
  
  
  
They end up winning the game.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
By 3 a.m., everyone is wasted.  
  
  
Harry sits outside on the back porch, smoking a menthol cigarette that he bummed off of Zayn. The thing is, he usually hates cigs, but he can’t help but crave them sometimes when he’s drunk. Go figure.  
  
  
His eyes are fixed on the surface of the pool, clear turquoise and calm as the night. Zayn is stretched out beside him on a purple, plastic lawn chair, his head dropped back. He exhales a smooth stream of smoke, watches the wind carry it away with heavy, half-lidded eyes. “Was gonna roll a joint,” he says with a yawn. “Too tired, now.”  
  
  
Harry shrugs. “We’ll smoke tomorrow. Looks like everyone’s about to pass out, anyway. We’ve been drinking since the sun set.”  
  
  
Zayn grins sleepily, taking a drag. “It’s gonna be rising again, pretty soon.”  
  
  
The sliding glass door opens then as Liam steps outside. He looks properly sloshed, the front of his t-shirt stained with spilled drink, but he smiles serenely as he slumps down into one of the empty lawn chairs. Harry furrows his brow at him. “Where’s Louis?”  
  
  
Liam shrugs. “Dunno. Thought he was out here with you?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head, and the others give him a curious look as he stands up from his chair a little too quickly. He passes the rest of his cigarette to Liam before heading back into the house. It’s quiet inside, now. The ceiling fan is the only source of movement, spinning in lazy circles.  
  
  
He searches the downstairs, and it doesn’t take long before he finds him, curled up on the floor of the bathroom hallway. Harry feels a rush of panic at first, but then he gets closer and sees that Louis is breathing steadily, a contented look on his face. He can’t help but smile at the sight, crouching down beside him.  
  
  
“Lou,” he says, shaking his shoulder gently.  
  
  
“Hm?” Louis mumbles, his eyes blinking open groggily.  
  
  
“You okay?”  
  
  
“’m drunk.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles. “I know you are. D’you feel sick?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes with a closed fist. “’m sleepy.”  
  
  
“Why don’t you lie down in one of the bedrooms? You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”  
  
  
Louis mumbles something unintelligible and Harry wraps his hands around both of his wrists, carefully pulling him to his feet. “C’mon, Party Animal. Up you get.”  
  
  
Louis stumbles slightly, before Harry steadies him with an arm around his shoulders. “Put your weight on me, okay?” he tells him, and Louis tucks himself under Harry’s bicep, wrapping his arms around his waist for support.  
  
  
They walk to the kitchen like that, Louis draped around Harry’s side like a koala. And Harry bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a laugh. This is the first time he’s seen Louis like this, drunk and clingy. It’s strangely endearing.  
  
  
The kitchen counter is littered with crumpled up bags of chips and half-empty bottles of drink, sticky shot glasses and a spilled beer can. Harry sorts through the mess for a clean cup, filling it with some ice and water. He hands it to Louis. “Drink this,” he urges. “You’ll hate yourself in the morning, if you don’t.”  
  
  
Louis gulps at the water like he’s just walked a mile through the desert, some of it spilling from the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. And Harry smiles, lifting his hand to wipe the excess away with his thumb.  
  
  
“Better?” Harry asks, taking the cup back.  
  
  
Louis nods, wrapping himself around Harry once again. “Wanna lie down,” he mumbles, burying his face in Harry’s shirt.  
  
  
Harry rubs his shoulder soothingly. “I know, just gotta get you upstairs, first. C’mon.”  
  
  
They slowly make their way through the house and up the staircase, Louis snuffling and grumbling occasionally from where he’s tucked under Harry’s arm. Upstairs, they pass some doors, the master bedroom where Liam will sleep on the left, a bathroom, and another room shared by Niall and Barbara on the right, before they reach the last door at the end of the hallway where Louis put his suitcase. There’s not a lot of furniture in the room, just a mirror hanging on the wall, a bed pushed into the corner, and a small table beside it, topped with a lamp.  
  
  
Harry sets the glass of water down on the table while Louis clumsily climbs into bed, shuffling under the covers with a grateful sigh. Harry turns off the lamp, leaving the room in almost complete darkness, except for the pale moonlight that spills in through the window. He reaches out a hand, brushing Louis’s fringe back from his face. “You gonna be okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, nuzzling into Harry’s touch like a cat. “Mhmm.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, and once again, he’s met with a feeling that he’s become increasingly familiar with: the desire to take care of this boy. Slowly, he kneels down, bringing his lips to Louis’s forehead, kissing him there soft and slow. His lips drift down to the tip of his nose before ghosting across his cheek, listening to him breathe.  
  
  
  
And then he hears Louis’s voice, a small, raspy whisper in the dark. “I like you.”  
  
  
  
Harry smiles against his warm skin. “I know,” he whispers back, kissing his cheek. “I like you, too.”  
  
  
  
He pulls away then, saying one last ‘goodnight,’ as he makes his way to the door.  
  
  
  
Before it closes behind him, Louis is already fast asleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Louis wakes up with a groan. The sun is rising through a nearby window, his mouth tastes like death, and there’s a dull throb in the back of his head. He blearily blinks awake, stilling slightly as he takes in his surroundings. He hasn’t the slightest clue as to how he ended up here.  
  
  
He spots a glass of water on the bedside table and gulps from it greedily until it’s empty, the room-temperature liquid doing little to satisfy his extreme thirst. Whoever said liquor causes dehydration wasn’t kidding.  
  
  
Slowly, he pushes back the duvet and climbs out of bed, his bare feet padding down the hall to the bathroom. He takes a rather long piss and finds his toothbrush where he left it by the sink, brushing the taste of stale beer from his mouth, and splashing some cold water on his face.  
  
  
The house is quiet and still in contrast to all of the commotion from the night before. The stairs creak beneath his feet as he wanders down to the kitchen with a yawn, his nose crinkling at the mess. He finds a clean cup and fills it with ice water, chugging it in a few quick gulps.  
  
  
“…Lou?”  
  
  
Louis startles, nearly dribbling water down his front as he spins around at the sound of his name.  
  
  
And there’s Harry, standing behind the counter as he sleepily rubs at his eyes.  
  
  
Louis fidgets, caught off guard. “Why are you awake?”  
  
  
Harry raises the empty cup in his hand. “Dying of thirst, same as you,” he says with a half-smile, his voice rough with sleep.  
  
  
Louis nods, leaning back against the counter as Harry steps closer to dig some ice cubes out of the freezer. He glances at Louis over his shoulder. “Feeling alright? You were pretty out of it before I got you upstairs.”  
  
  
Louis’s eyes widen in horror. “You –  _what?_ ”  
  
  
Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “You don’t remember?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, his face growing hot. “No, I – shit, do I even  _want_  to know how badly I embarrassed myself?”  
  
  
Harry chuckles. “You didn’t. You were just tired, mostly. I found you curled up in a ball on the floor.”  
  
  
Louis shifts on his feet, staring down at the tiled floor. “…Thank you. For, you know, helping me and everything.”  
  
  
Harry just nods. “Of course.”  
  
  
They walk out of the kitchen together then, pausing awkwardly near the staircase. “So, uhm,” Louis stammers, not wanting to leave Harry’s side just yet. “Where did you sleep?”  
  
  
“The downstairs bedroom,” Harry says, inclining his head. “Sharing it with Zayn.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Louis says, his heart sinking a bit. Zayn is  _gorgeous_ , like a fucking  _Vogue_  model or something, and he  _lives_  with Harry. Is it possible Louis didn’t notice before? Could they be…together in some way?  
  
  
“We’re just friends,” Harry clarifies, as if he could hear Louis’s thoughts. “Zayn and me, I mean.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Louis mumbles, relieved. He sips at his water, unsure of what else to say.  
  
  
Harry yawns then, rolling his shoulders to crack his back. “Well, it’s still pretty early. Guess we should get back to sleep.”  
  
  
Louis nods his head, reluctant. He's dying to ask Harry to come upstairs with him, crawl under the sheets and just fall asleep together. But he’s never been brave enough for that.   
  
  
He’s halfway up the stairs, mentally kicking himself with every step, because he’s a coward and Harry probably thinks he’s just a dumb kid and—  
  
  
  
“Louis?”  
  
  
  
He freezes, his foot raised in mid-air. When he glances over his shoulder, Harry is still standing there at the bottom of the staircase, his hands neatly folded behind his back.  
  
  
“Erm – is there enough room in that bed for two?”  
  
  
And Louis is absolutely helpless against the trembling in his knees, or the smile that tugs at his lips. He shrugs, lowering his head with a nod. “Suppose there is.”  
  
  
Harry smirks. “I’ll be up in a minute, just gonna wash up real quick.”  
  
  
Louis feels almost light-headed as he makes his way back to the bedroom at the end of the hall, fighting the urge to fucking giggle or skip or something equally ridiculous and  _for fuck’s sake_ , it’s pathetic, really, the kind of effect Harry has on him. He quickly changes into a clean t-shirt and crawls under the sheets, waiting. Listening for Harry’s footsteps in the hall. Willing his stuttering heart to calm down. It’s a lost cause when Harry finally appears in the doorway, tugging it closed behind him. He looks a bit shy as he steps over to the bed and pulls back the duvet, and Louis thinks, _oh thank Christ, I’m not the only one who’s nervous.  
  
  
_ Harry slips under the sheets, lying on his side to face Louis, prodding at the pillow until it’s a comfortable shape. And Louis lies on his belly, both arms folded under his pillow, his head turned to the side so he can see the boy lying next to him, wonder if he’s real.  
  
  
“Hi,” Harry whispers.  
  
  
And Louis smirks, whispering back. “Hi.”  
  
  
Harry studies his face for a moment, the corners of his lips turning up, like he’s trying to suppress a laugh.  
  
  
Louis quirks his brow. “What?”  
  
  
Harry lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Nothing. Just thinking about last night.” He pauses, smiling thoughtfully as he stares down at the bedsheet. “You’re funny when you’re drunk…you kind of grumble a lot.”  
  
  
Louis groans, mortified, smacking a hand over his face. “I’m never drinking again.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles. “Why not? I thought it was cute.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head where it's still hidden behind his hand, his cheeks turning pink.  
  
  
Everything stills for a moment; the low hum of the air conditioner suddenly loud in the quiet room. Louis can feel Harry’s eyes on him, as if he’s carefully weighing his next words. It makes his ears prick up with anticipation, his nerves already straddling a tightrope. And then Harry clears his throat.  
  
  
“You know…you told me that you like me.”  
  
  
Louis freezes, his heart slamming to a halt and then accelerating far too quickly. He turns his head, burying his face into his pillow. “Jesus,” he mumbles against the cotton.  
  
  
“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it,” he hears Harry say, his voice comforting. And then he feels his hand up high on his back, the touch tentative, like he's not sure if it's allowed. “…Do you remember what I said back?”  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly, shaking his head as he turns to meet Harry’s gaze. In the back of his mind, he's been preparing himself for rejection, just in case. Always expecting the worst.  
  
  
Harry smiles, soft and uncertain. “Okay, well, before we get to that…” he chews on his bottom lip for a moment, “...Does it bother you that I’m nineteen?”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”  
  
  
Harry runs a hand through his hair, dropping it back against the mattress. “Just – I know I’m older. And I know we haven’t known each other for very long or anything, but…I like being with you. I liked holding you, and I liked kissing you…And I like you, too, Louis. That’s what I said.” He pauses, taking a breath. “I guess I’m just afraid I’m going to move too fast, or like...I don’t know? Scare you away?”  
  
  
Louis’s head feels fuzzy. He’s lost all control of his heart now, and he’s not sure if he’s actually breathing, or thinking, or anything at all. He forces himself to exhale, shaking his head. “You haven’t scared me away, Harry. Definitely not. It's just..." he shrugs, biting his lip.  
  
  
"What is it?" Harry whispers.  
  
  
"Just...I don't know why you would like me."  
  
  
Harry's face falls a bit, looking at him perplexedly. “Why not?”  
  
  
Louis sighs, staring down at the sheet. He bunches it up with his fingers, then smooths it out again, nervous. “You’re – you could have anyone you want and I’m – I just feel like a dumb kid, most of the time…I’d never even kissed anyone, before you.”  
  
  
He keeps his eyes fixed on the mattress, embarrassed by his own admission. But he can feel Harry watching him, and when he looks up, there’s something close to wonderment in his wide, green eyes.  
  
  
“I was your first kiss?”  
  
  
Louis nods, and then Harry is slowly scooting closer. "Really?" he whispers in disbelief, smiling as he brings his hand up to his cheek. Their eyes lock for a moment, and then Harry tips his chin, brushing his nose along Louis's jawline, breathing him in. His lips ghost at the column of his throat, reverent and barely touching.  
  
  
“God, I just want to kiss you again. Will you let me?”  
  
  
His voice is both soft and rough, his breath hot as it tickles at Louis's earlobe, making him shiver. He swallows nervously and then slowly nods his head, eyes falling closed.  And then he feels Harry’s lips against his own, a soft brush of warmth. And he wonders if Harry can feel him shaking.  
  
  
The first time they kissed, Louis was still a bit tipsy. It took the edge off; the liquid courage in his bloodstream telling him what to do without any second-guesses or self-doubt. Now he’s tense with nerves and overthinking it, terrified of doing something wrong.

  
  
Harry can feel his hesitation and pulls back a bit, worry clouding his eyes. “You – is this okay?”  
  
  
The words tug at Louis's heart, because how on Earth could Harry possibly think  _he’s_  the problem? He quickly nods his head, reassuring. “Yeah, of course, it’s just,” he bites his lip, mumbling. “Don’t want to be bad at it.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, the worry in his eyes shifting into something else, something soft. “You’re not a bad kisser, Lou. Just follow my lead, yeah?”  
  
  
Louis nods, tries to stop thinking as Harry slowly brings their lips together, once again. It’s ridiculous to think that just last night they were making out in the ocean, clinging to each other, a heated slide of tongues, and now they’re tentatively touching closed lips, hesitant and chaste. All because Louis is an inexperienced child. It will probably only be a matter of time before Harry gets tired of him.  
  
  
He might as well enjoy it while it lasts, he thinks.  
  
  
He feels Harry’s mouth moving against his own, delicate as he presses small pecks along the line of Louis's lips, exploring. His thumb brushes at the underside of Louis's jaw, tilting his chin up for a better angle. He increases the pressure of the kiss then, full lips molded onto Louis's, before pulling back slightly. “Open your mouth a bit,” he breathes, warm against his chin.  
  
  
Louis obeys, parting his lips, and then Harry is kissing him again, graciously moving slow for Louis’s sake. He licks at his bottom lip, tracing along the curve with the tip of his tongue before dipping inside, both tasting of mint from their toothpaste. He gently teases at Louis’s tongue, and Louis experimentally flicks back, pulling a pleased hum from Harry's throat. Shuddered sighs pass between their lips, soft and wet.  
  
  
Louis realizes that his hands are still balled into nervous fists and he unclenches them, reaching out to rest his palm against Harry’s hip, feeling a bit of warm skin from where his shirt has risen up. Encouraged, Harry moves in closer, their chests almost touching. His hand slides down from Louis’s jaw to cup his neck, his fingertips tickling at the sensitive little spot below his ear. And Louis shivers, the nerves sparking all the way down his spine as Harry sucks at his bottom lip like he’s claiming it, releasing it with a wet  _pop_. He pecks his lips a few more times, his thumb brushing at Louis's cheek, before reluctantly pulling away.  
  
  
Harry moves to rest his forehead against Louis’s, eyes closed as they both catch their breath. “We better stop, there,” he sighs, as if it’s actually _paining_ him to hold back. “Sleep now. More kisses, later.”  
  
  
Louis nods, heart swelling at the promise of ‘later.’ And then they fall back against their pillows.  
  
  
Louis faces the wall, his belly fluttering incessantly, lips still tingling from Harry’s kiss. He hears the mattress creak as Harry scoots closer, his arm wrapping around Louis's waist from behind to pull him back against his chest, cuddling him in. Louis has never been cuddled before, never been held like this.   
  
  
Harry noses at the back of his head, pressing a kiss there. “Soft hair,” he murmurs.  
  
  
Louis bites his lip, hiding his smile against the pillow. “Shhh.”  
  
  
And he feels Harry’s chest rumble against him as he chuckles lowly.  
  
  
Louis closes his eyes, surrendering to sleep.  
  
  
  
He could live forever, he’s so happy.  
  
  
He’s so happy, he could die.  
  
  
  
 


	6. Chapter 6

   
  
The beach house was quiet for most of the day. Everyone stayed in bed until well-passed noon, cringing away from the sunlight as they slept off their hangovers. Louis woke up inside the crook of Harry’s arm, pressed together back to chest, hot under the sheets. He twisted around to poke at Harry’s cheek until he blinked awake, looking adorably groggy and sleep-rumpled. 

  
  
One by one, they all trickled downstairs, swallowing painkillers and pitching in to clean the scattered mess from the night before. It was kind of amazing that six people could cause so much destruction, with overturned furniture and empty beer cans strewn around the living spaces, something orange and sticky puddled on the kitchen floor, and a pair of polka dot boxers (Niall’s) dangling from the ceiling fan.  
  
  
When the house was properly tidied, they changed into their swimsuits and drove back to the beach. The weather was perfect; a light breeze blew in from the cliffside while the blazing afternoon sun was barely concealed by a few thin, wispy clouds. Barbara and Zayn stayed back by the truck to sunbathe while the others headed straight for the waves. And, hilariously, Harry actually attempted to teach Louis how to surf.  
  
  
It seemed like a lost cause, really. Louis only managed to keep his balance for about three seconds before he’d topple sideways, the surfboard slipping out from under his feet as he fell back into the water with a crash. Harry stayed close by the whole time, covering his mouth to suppress a cackling laugh whenever Louis reemerged with his fringe plastered over his eyes. And then he’d splash Harry out of spite, failing to keep a stupid grin off his face.  
  
  
In the end, a massive wave billowed through, washing the surfboard back up to shore where it wedged into the sand and got stuck. And Louis was left alone in the deep with Harry, kicking hard at the water to keep his head afloat. Harry waded over to his side, not even bothering to ask this time before he scooped Louis up into his arms, his legs wrapping around his front so that they could face each other.  
  
  
Harry smirked at him. “You know what I think?”  
  
  
“What?” Louis asked.  
  
  
“I think that secretly, you’re amazing at surfing, and only pretend to be bad so I’ll carry you like this.”  
  
  
Louis rolled his eyes. “You don’t _have_ to carry me, you know. I could just swim back to where it’s shallow.”  
  
  
Harry grinned, his hands clenching around Louis’s thighs to pull him closer. “Not a chance,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I like this. Even if it _is_ dangerous.”  
  
  
Louis raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous?”  
  
  
Harry nodded. “Mhm. Twice the body heat attracts twice the sharks.”  
  
  
Louis looked at him skeptically. “Is this a scientific fact, or did you just make it up?”  
  
  
Harry grinned. “Made it up. Sounded pretty factual though, didn’t it?”  
  
  
Louis laughed, shaking his head. He twisted his fingers around the wet curls at the nape of Harry’s neck, giving them a gentle tug, and Harry hummed appreciatively. The water lapped at their sides with the current, cool and tinged with salt. Sunrays reflected across its surface and fell on Harry’s face, making his eyes look extra green in the light.  
  
  
The corners of his lips turned up in a shy smile. “Can I kiss you?” he breathed, his voice just above a whisper, even though there was no one else around.  
  
  
Louis’s heart sped up a bit at the question, but he tried to shrug it off. “You don’t have to ask,” he mumbled.  
  
  
Harry smiled at that, dipping his chin.  
  
  
“My lips probably taste like saltwater,” Louis quickly warned as he leaned in.  
  
  
And Harry chuckled. “I couldn’t possibly care less, babe.”  
  
  
_Babe_.  
  
  
That single word had Louis’s stomach quivering, had him smiling uncontrollably against Harry’s lips. And he could feel him smiling, too.  
  
  
“You know,” Harry murmured between kisses, “I think this is only creating more body heat.”  
  
  
Louis suppressed a shiver, pecking at the corner of Harry’s mouth. “So what do we do if a shark comes?”  
  
  
Harry sucked teasingly at his bottom lip, making Louis’s arms tighten around his neck. “I’ve heard that you’re supposed to punch them in the nose,” he said with a shrug. “I’d save you, though.”  
  
  
Louis shook his head, trying to keep his breathing steady as Harry’s fingertips tickled at his inner thighs. “Liar. You’d toss me out and save yourself.”  
  
  
Harry laughed, his chest rumbling where it was pressed against Louis’s. “I’m offended that you think so little of me,” he teased.  
  
  
And Louis just shook his head again, kissing him back even harder. He doesn’t tell him that he thinks he’s the greatest thing in the world.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
That night, they dig the rest of the liquor out of the freezer and take shots by the swimming pool, skin tanned and blushing pink from the sun. Zayn rolls some joints on the patio table and passes them around, and it only takes three hits for Louis to feel a bit spacey. He spends an inordinate amount of time staring at his own hand, fascinated by the lines that are etched into his palm, the veins that sprout like spider webs from his wrist. He sways his feet where they’re dipped in the pool, watching the water ripple and break.  
  
  
He never wants to leave this place.  
  
  
  
Afterwards, when the air cools and the stars come out, they sit in a circle inside the jacuzzi tub, the water bubbling merrily and letting off steam. Louis is tucked between Harry and Zayn, with a hot water jet that feels like heaven positioned against the small of his back. They’re all a little intoxicated in one way or another, and somehow, they end up talking about favorite Disney movies.  
  
  
“Toy Story, hands down.” Liam says.  
  
  
Zayn thinks about it for a moment. “That was a good one. I think my favorite was always The Lion King as a kid, though. Classic.”  
  
  
Louis bites his lip. “I’ve never met anyone who agrees with me on this, but…Hercules.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, looking down at him. “That was my second favorite, actually.”  
  
  
“Really?” Louis asks, surprised. “What’s your first, then?”  
  
  
“Beauty and the Beast.”  
  
  
The others let out a collective groan and Barbara tuts. “You complete _sap_ , Harry. Honestly,” she teases, and everyone nods in agreement. Everyone except Louis, that is. He can barely contain the fond that’s bubbling up inside his chest.  
  
  
“Mine was The Little Mermaid,” Barbara says then, turning to look at Niall. “What about you, babe?”  
  
  
“A Goofy Movie,” Niall says with a resolute nod. “Legend. Totally underrated.”  
  
  
“D’you know what I never understood about Goofy, though?” Harry says, and Louis watches the way he moves his hands when he talks, his voice syrupy-slow. “He had a job, and like, drove a car, things like that? But then, what about Pluto? He had to wear a collar and sleep outside. Why? It’s not fair, is it? …I mean, they were both dogs, right?”  
  
  
There’s a moment of silence where everyone stares blankly at Harry before bursting into manic giggles, Zayn scrubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus, I’m too high for this shit. Niall, where’s the Jäger?”  
  
  
  
They sip straight from the bottle as it’s passed around, and Louis is careful not to drink too much, preferring to avoid a repeat of his wasted antics from the night before. He feels his cheeks warm when Harry suddenly slips an arm around his waist, pulling him in close to his side, his hand resting lightly on his hip. He’s not used to being affectionate like this with anyone – much less, in front of other people. But he likes it.  
  
  
The others spare them a few curious glances, but otherwise don’t seem fazed by their newfound closeness. And Louis wonders if it’s because Barbara had filled them in, or if they already suspected that something was up, just from watching the two of them together. He wonders what they saw when they looked at him and Harry – or when they looked at him _looking_ at Harry. It must have been written all over his face, the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
  
Eventually, the others make drunken cannon-balls into the swimming pool, competing to see who can create the biggest splash, and Harry and Louis are left alone in the hot tub.  
  
  
Harry pulls him onto his lap with a smile. “Hey, Lou?”  
  
  
“Hm?”  
  
  
“Who put the glad in gladiator?”  
  
  
And Louis rolls his eyes. “ _Hercules_.”  
  
  
Harry grins. “Got the movie at my house. We’ll have to watch it, soon.”  
  
  
Louis hums, brushing his thumb against the dimple on Harry’s cheek. “Is that a date?”  
  
  
Harry bites his lip. “I hope so.”  
  
  
And he looks at him with so much softness in his eyes that Louis can hardly bear it. No one has ever looked at him that way, before. He practically shrinks under his gaze, curling into him and resting his head inside the nook of Harry’s shoulder. And maybe it’s because he’s still a bit high, but their skin feels _otherworldly_ held close together like this, slick and slippery in the hot water, steam rising around them in soft tufts.

  
  
Harry turns his head, pressing a kiss to his wet hair. “You tired?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “Not really.”  
  
  
Harry nods, his hand rubbing soft circles into his back. “Me neither, but…was kind of hoping maybe we could cuddle again?”  
  
  
And Louis’s face splits into an irresistible grin, hidden against Harry’s collarbone.  
  
  
“Okay,” he whispers.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After his shower, Louis scrubs a towel through his hair and slips on a t-shirt and sweatpants, his belly still twisting with nerves as he crawls into bed and waits for Harry to come upstairs. It isn’t long before he slips into the room and pulls the door closed behind him, dropping his overnight bag on the floor. He smiles sheepishly as he climbs under the duvet, smelling amazing as usual, with damp hair and soft pajamas. And Louis can barely keep up with how fast he’s falling for him.  
  
  
The shouting and laughter from the party downstairs is muffled through the walls, as Louis and Harry lie on their sides and whisper in the dark, the window open to the moonlight. And for what feels like the thousandth time, Louis wonders just how the hell he ended up here.  
  
  
Two days ago, he never would have imagined any of this. Lying in bed with Harry, sharing kisses and hushed stories between the sheets. A nagging voice in the back of his mind still insists that it’s all too good to be true. _Why me_ , the voice demands, _why would he ever choose me?_ And Louis nibbles on his bottom lip, watching Harry curiously.  
  
  
Harry notices that he’s gone quiet, of course. His brow furrows. “What are you thinking?”  
  
  
Louis's shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Nothing. It’s stupid.”  
  
  
“ _Tell meee_.”  
  
  
He sighs, fingers tentatively picking at his pillowcase. “It’s just, uhm. Well the thing is – before yesterday, I mean – I kind of thought you were straight?”  
  
  
Harry’s eyebrows raise a bit at the question and then he chuckles, his gaze dropping to the mattress as he runs a hand through his hair. And Louis immediately regrets his words, thinking he must have offended him.  
  
  
“Sorry—”  
  
  
Harry quickly cuts him off, smiling reassuringly. “No, it’s fine, really. Just…does this mean you’re ready to talk about, like, past relationships and stuff?”  
  
  
Louis shifts a bit, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of hearing about other people that Harry’s been with. He’s already irrationally jealous of anyone who’s ever so much as _touched_ him, but still, he wants to be able to talk to Harry about anything. “Well, yeah. Only if you want to talk about it?”  
  
  
Harry shrugs. “There’s not much to tell, really. I dated a few girls in high school, but I’ve only had one proper relationship. Her name was Laura. We were together for nearly two years before she ended it.”  
  
  
Louis listens carefully, remembering something. “The night we left Niall’s party, you said your ex was there…?”  
  
  
Harry nods his head. “Yeah, that was her.”  
  
  
“When did you break up?”  
  
  
He scrunches his forehead, thinking. “Hmm. About four months ago.”  
  
  
Louis bit his lip. “You – do you still have feelings for her?” he asks, hesitantly, almost dreading the answer.  
  
  
But Harry doesn’t seem bothered by the question, just shakes his head. “I’ll always care about her, but it’s not like that, anymore.”  
  
  
Louis nods, watching Harry as he waits for him to continue.  
  
  
He lies back on his pillow, chest rising and falling slowly as he stares up at the ceiling. “It wasn’t until after high school that I started figuring things out, I guess. Realized I like guys, too. Dunno what that makes me?” He shrugs. “I just like whoever I like.”

  
“So you’ve never had a boyfriend?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head. “Nope, no boyfriends. But I mean, I’ve hooked up with guys at parties, before. Mostly just drunk make-outs, things like that.”  
  
  
Louis twists his fingers, his heart sinking into his stomach. He lowers his gaze to the mattress, still chewing on his lip. “So…so is that what this is…? I mean, you and me, are we…?”  
  
  
Harry watches him closely, his eyebrows knitted together. “...What? No! No, of course not, we – oh, _babe_ ,” he says, suddenly scooting closer and cupping Louis’s cheek with his hand, worry pooling in his eyes. “Is that what you thought this was?” he whispers, voice gentle. “Just a hook-up?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs and doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes, mumbling. “I – I don’t know? I wasn’t really sure? We didn’t really talk about it…but you – when you said you had only dated girls I thought, maybe you weren’t, like, interested in anything serious with a guy? Or…with me?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Louis, no. Listen…you’re – it’s true, I’ve never really had feelings for another guy, before. I’ve been _attracted_ , of course, but…you are honestly the first one I’ve ever _liked_ like this, and that means a lot to me.” He peppers Louis’s lips with quick, reassuring kisses. “Okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, reaching out a hand. His fingers clench in Harry’s shirt, vulnerable.    
  
  
Harry wraps his arms around him then, pulling him close to his chest and nuzzling against his hair. He sighs, a soft puff of breath that ruffles his fringe. “...I like you a lot, Louis,” he whispers. “Fucking crazy about you, actually.”  
  
  
  
And if Louis could speak, he’d tell Harry that he can no longer remember a time when he wasn’t crazy about him, too.  
  
  
  
After a moment, he makes a soft sound from where he's tucked under Harry's chin, still a little unsure of what this all means.  
  
  
Harry seems to understand, though. He tilts Louis’s face up to meet his eyes, his gaze so soft and hopeful. “Louis, will you let me be your boyfriend?”  
  
  
Without a second thought, he nods his head, his heart stuttering weakly.  
  
  
And Harry smiles, pressing their lips together. “’M gonna take good care of you,” he breathes. “I promise.”  
  
  
Louis drapes his arms around Harry’s neck and holds him impossibly closer, terrified that if he loosens his grip even the slightest bit this will all slip away. He doesn’t know what to say or even think, so he kisses Harry, hard and desperate, wondering if he can feel how breakable Louis is in the breaths that pass between them, how fragile his heart can be.  
  
  
And it’s all in Harry’s hands, now. Louis never stood a chance.  
  
  
He digs his fingers in Harry’s hair, pulling him along as he falls back against the pillows. And Harry just keeps dotting his face with gentle little kisses, his lips plush and softer than anything Louis has ever known. The moonlight casts shadows across Harry’s face as he hovers over Louis, smiling down at him and carding his fingers through his fringe. And he kisses him with purpose, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing at Louis’s cheekbone and stealing his every breath.  
  
  
Usually Harry is the one to deepen the kisses, but this time, it’s Louis who grows impatient first, licking at the seam of Harry’s lips and needily seeking entrance. Harry pulls back a bit then to smirk at him, and when their mouths come together again, Harry’s is open to him. Their tongues touch, gentle and wet, Harry’s teasing Louis’s and coaxing it further into his mouth.  
  
  
The way Harry tugs at Louis’s bottom lip makes his temperature spike, makes the heat flood through his veins each time their mouths part to take a breath and then slot together again, tasting each other, with soft little flicks of tongue. His heart is beating way too fast, and it's so, so _hot_ under the duvet.  
  
  
As if he read Louis’s mind, Harry moves away suddenly, kicking the duvet to the floor and letting the cool air conditioning wash over them. Louis makes impatient grabby-hands at him to come back and Harry chuckles before he complies, kissing teasingly at the corner of Louis's mouth before tracing his lip with his tongue.   
  
  
Quickened breathing and the wet smack of lips is almost loud in the quiet room. Harry’s hands cup Louis’s face, keeping him suspended over him as he licks hotly into his mouth, making Louis squirm. Harry pulls back, sucking hard at his bottom lip, and eliciting the tiniest moan from the younger boy. Harry stills for a moment at the sound, just breathing against his lips. And then slowly, he moves again, draping a leg over Louis’s. He slips it in between his thighs and shifts his weight, rubbing up against Louis’s crotch and— _oh_.  
  
  
Louis releases his lips with a sharp hiss of breath, his head falling back against the pillow.  
  
  
Harry slowly lowers his head, panting against Louis’s neck like he’s trying to calm himself down. “…You’re _hard_ ,” he breathes.  
  
  
Louis blushes furiously, panic ringing through his mind. Harry’s thigh is still pressing down on him and he can feel his dick _twitching_ against it, begging for more attention. No one has _ever_ touched him like this, before. “Sorry, it’s just—uhm.”  
  
  
But Harry cuts him off with another bruising kiss. He brackets Louis’s head between his elbows as he raises himself up, shifting until he’s completely on top of the smaller boy. He aligns their hips, meeting Louis’s eyes as he slowly lowers himself down. And – and then Louis can _feel_ Harry’s cock, rock hard as it presses back against his own through the thin layers of their pajama pants. His eyes widen. _Holy shit_.  
  
  
Harry is still breathing unsteadily but he tries to keep still as he looks down at Louis, his eyes searching for permission. “Is this okay?”  
  
  
Louis swallows audibly and nods his head, sucking in a nervous breath.  
  
  
Harry moves his hips experimentally just once, dragging the thick line of his cock against Louis’s, creating friction that is so light and maddeningly teasing. Louis’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp.  
  
  
Harry bites his lip like he’s still unsure, watching him closely. “Okay?”  
  
  
And Louis nods frantically, bucking his hips up in a countermovement, desperate for more of that delicious friction against his trapped cock. His pulse flutters erratically in his throat and Harry leans down to kiss him there, lightly nipping with his teeth as he rocks his hips into Louis’s, hard and slow.  
  
  
Louis’s hands grip at the sheets, trying desperately to collect himself, but it’s a lost cause. He feels his lungs may give out any moment now from overwhelming nerves and excitement, and the little shockwaves that keep shooting down his spine, licking at his nerve endings, murmuring broken chants of _oh god, oh that feels good._  
  
  
Harry mouths hotly as Louis’s neck, moving his lips up to his ear. He suckles at the soft lobe, making Louis arch up into him. And Harry nuzzles against his hair, breathing him in. “…Want me to get you off?”  
  
  
Louis shivers at his words, his heart hammering like mad in his chest as he takes a deep breath. “I – I’ve never done anything with anyone,” he admits, shy in his inexperience.  
  
  
Harry suddenly freezes, pulling back to check on Louis, to _take care_ of Louis. He never forgets. “Lou, we don’t have to – d’you want to stop?”  
  
  
“No, fuck, don’t stop,” Louis breathes, failing to keep the desperation out of his voice.  
  
  
Harry watches Louis carefully for a moment longer, uncertain, and then Louis is grabbing him, pulling him back down into a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and they’re still breathing kinda hard, and Louis doesn’t think that he’ll ever want to kiss anyone else, ever again. “Please,” he breathes, gripping his hand into Harry’s hip and urging him to move again. “Just this. More of this.”  
  
  
Harry presses a kiss to his hair, resting his forehead against Louis’s. “If you change your mind, I need you to tell me, okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, his heart bursting with how gentle and patient Harry is with him. “Promise,” he whispers.  
  
  
Harry sits up then, leaning back on his haunches as he pulls his shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. And Louis lies back and admires the way his torso looks in the moonlight, soft hips and the sharp cut of muscles, fine hairs that trail down from his navel and disappear into his sweatpants, where a large bulge sits at the front, heavy and tight against the fabric. Louis shivers at the sight, seeing how _hard_ Harry is for him.  
  
  
Harry grips Louis’s thighs in his hands, locking them around his waist before leaning back down. Then he recaptures his lips, shifting his hips so that his cock is pressing up against Louis’s once again, hot and straining through their pants. And Louis wants to cry in relief when Harry starts to move again, grinding into him with slow little jerks of his hips. Their groins slide and drag together through their clothes, the friction creating so much heat that it’s almost painful, but _fuck_ , it feels so good.  
  
  
A tiny gasp escapes Louis’s lips and he bites down on his finger to hold back his sounds, embarrassed.  
  
  
Harry wraps a hand around his wrist then, gently tugging his hand away from his mouth. “Please don’t do that.” He presses a wet kiss to his cheek. “I like hearing you.”  
  
  
And Louis obeys, shuddering at the sound of Harry’s voice, low and rough in his ear. He can feel the heat pulling taut in his abdomen and he digs his nails into the bare skin of Harry’s back, letting a whimper pass freely from his lips, this time. Harry's hands skirt down his torso, coming to rest at his waist, his fingertips digging into the small of Louis's back. He leans back up to kiss him, a messy slide of tongues, and Louis nearly comes on the spot when he hears Harry groaning softly into his mouth. They’re absolutely _rutting_ against each other now, quick and fevered, and Louis knows he’s leaking from his slit. The front of their pants have become damp with sweat and precome, and his breath hitches each time the wet tip of Harry’s cock slides filthily against his own.  
  
  
Harry pulls back to check on him, his eyes still soft despite the hunger that resonates there, now. “Does that feel good, baby?”  
  
  
Louis bites down on his lip and nods, blushing under Harry’s heavy gaze.  
  
  
Harry groans, leaning back down to suck a kiss into the hollow below Louis’s ear. “I – _fuck -_  I don’t want to rush this – want to take it slow. But – eventually, if you’ll let me…” he licks at a drop of sweat on Louis’s neck, his voice low and gravelly and _hot_. “I’ll do anything you want – anything to get you off.”  
  
  
Louis trembles, his legs tightening where they’re wrapped around Harry’s hips. No one has ever talked to him like that before, and he’s surprised that he doesn’t feel embarrassed by it. All he feels is more turned on. Harry rocks into him even harder and he mewls softly, burying his face into his neck.  
  
  
“ _God_ , Lou,” Harry pants. “D’you think you could come like this?”  
  
  
Louis nods frantically, gasping as he rolls his hips up faster into Harry’s, chasing that feeling. By now, his cock is _throbbing_ , and he’s so, so _close_. “Harry…” he whispers, like he’s asking for permission, needing to come so bad.  
  
  
“Go on,” Harry urges. “Want you to come for me, wanna make you feel good – ”  
  
  
Louis’s hips stutter, dick pulsing as he arches up into Harry. He bites down hard on his shoulder, muffling a sharp cry as he finally comes in his pants, hot and wet. Harry holds him close the whole time, an arm wrapped around his back. He shoves his other hand down into his own pants, breathing hard and fast as he tugs himself off, and it only takes a few pulls before he’s coming with a low moan, soaking the front of his pajamas.  
  
  
He pants against Louis’s hair, lowering him back down onto the pillows as he brushes his damp fringe from his forehead, kissing him there. “I’ll be right back," he whispers reassuringly, pulling away and hopping up from the bed.  
  
  
Heart still pounding, Louis lies back against the pillows, feeling almost lightheaded as he stares up at the ceiling and tries to catch his breath. _Wow_.   
  
  
Harry comes back only moments later with warm washcloths held in his hand, passing one to Louis. They quickly clean themselves up and dig through their overnight bags, changing into fresh clothes in the dark before climbing into bed, pulling the duvet back into place.  
  
  
Harry opens his arms invitingly and Louis quickly tucks himself against him, feeling rather sated and slightly possessive over the boy who gave him his first real orgasm. All of his pubescent experimenting with his own body, tugging himself off in the shower and into socks under his bed sheets…it never came close to _that_.  
  
  
He buries his face into Harry’s neck, pressing kisses to his fluttering pulse. All the while, Harry’s hands drift up and down Louis’s back, lightly massaging at the muscles there.  
  
  
“…Was that okay?” Harry asks after a moment, quiet and unsure. “I didn’t like, go too far or anything, did I?”  
  
  
“No,” Louis whispers. He shakes his head, arms tightening around Harry’s waist. “I…really liked that.”  
  
  
And he can feel Harry smirk against his hair. “Yeah?”  
  
  
Louis nods shyly, smiling as Harry's fingers stroke at his fringe.   
  
  
  
They fall asleep just like that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, they pack up their things and say goodbye to the beach house, sad that the weekend has reached an end. On the drive home, Louis rides up front in the passenger seat next to Harry, their hands held together on the center console, Louis’s small where it’s tucked inside of the older boy’s. He smiles as Harry sings along to his mixtapes, the windows rolled down, and it hits him like a freight train every time he looks over at Harry and thinks, _that’s my boyfriend_. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever quite get used to that.  
  
  
They drop off Niall and Liam first, and then Louis and Barbara. Harry parks his truck in the driveway, leaning over the seat to kiss Louis goodbye, soft and sweet.  
  
  
“I’ll text you tonight, okay?” he murmurs.  
  
  
Louis nods, and it’s pathetic how he already misses him.  
  
  
He gathers his suitcase and climbs out of the truck, waving dreamily as Harry drives away. And when he turns around, he finds Barbara watching him, smirking with a satisfied glint in her eyes.  
  
  
“Tell me _everything_.”  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

  
  
As it turns out, Louis really likes having a boyfriend.  
  
  
He’s hardly prepared as he walks out of the school gates one afternoon, eyes cast towards the ground, when Barbara’s elbow suddenly nudges him in the ribs. He looks up, confused, until he sees a green truck parked near the curb, Harry leaning against it in ripped jeans, hair held back with one of his ornately patterned scarves, and a sheepish little smile playing across his lips. He’s sort of breathtaking, as usual, and Louis’s heart may or may not expand inside his chest at the sight. He can feel people watching them as he makes his way over to the boy, maybe a little too eagerly, but it hardly matters when Harry wraps him up in his arms, pressing kisses to his cheek.  
  
  
“Thought you had work,” Louis laughs, surprised, and so, so happy to see him.  
  
  
Harry shakes his head. “It was slow today, so I got off early.” He hugs Louis a little tighter. “Missed you.”  
  
  
They don’t get to see each other much, is the thing. Louis has school five days a week, while Harry has his college classes and then works at the autoshop most afternoons, and sometimes on the weekends, too. They text each other whenever they get a free moment during the day, and talk on the phone before they go to bed at night, but Louis just _misses_ him so much sometimes that it’s hard to remember what his life was like before Harry.  
  
  
Of course, whenever they do get to see each other, things are great. They take walks around town, making stops at the diners and random shops, a small park next to the ice cream parlor. Sometimes they hang out with Barbara and the others, mostly at Liam’s house, because his parents are never home. One cloudy afternoon, they bought a big bag of cat food and drove through the neighborhood, feeding whatever strays they came across on the streets. They seem to have fun no matter where they go, really, but Louis thinks he likes it the most when they just stay in at Harry’s house.  
  
  
They’ll cuddle on the couch in front of the television, watching old movies in a blue dark, or get high in his room and talk for hours. Sometimes, when they’re both worn out from school and work, they’ll tug the curtains to a close and curl up in Harry’s bed, their legs tangled together under the sheets. Being tucked against Harry’s chest has easily become Louis’s favorite way to fall asleep.  
  
  
They kiss, a lot. And it usually ends up with them getting each other off like they did that first time at the beach house. They haven’t done anything more than that yet, haven’t even seen each other naked, because Harry is lovely and gentle and patient, and he never rushes Louis for more. And it’s just another reminder that Harry really could do so much better than him. He could find a pretty girl, or a really fit guy, someone his own age, who he wouldn’t have to take things slow with like this, dry humping through their clothes.  
  
  
And Louis wonders if Harry is getting bored with him.  
  
  
It scares him too, because with each day that passes, he can feel himself getting more and more attached to the boy, and he really doesn’t know what he’s going to do when Harry eventually leaves him. It’s been over a month since they made things official, and Louis is honestly surprised and a bit confused that Harry has stuck around this long. He doesn’t understand it at all. It’s not that he thinks Harry would intentionally hurt him or lead him on or anything, but…people _leave_ , always. And they always leave Louis. And he knows it’s only a matter of time before Harry will, too.  
  
  
And to make things even more difficult, he knows that Harry isn’t just his boyfriend; he’s become his best friend. After having spent so much of his life feeling terribly lonely, Louis has never really… _connected_  with anyone like this, before. He’s never been good with people, but things came so _easily_ with Harry, so effortless. There was never any force to it, no struggle to get along or to understand each other, no lull in conversations or uncomfortable silences. It just _happened_. And as much as Louis loves that his first best friend and his first boyfriend are somehow inexplicably the same person, it also terrifies him, because he knows that when he loses one, he’ll be losing the other, too.  
  
  
Louis can’t be selfish. When Harry is ready to leave, he’ll have to let him go. And in the meantime, he’ll enjoy having him all to himself for as long as he can. And he’ll try not to think about how he’s never been this happy in all his life, try not to wonder if he’ll ever be lucky enough to have something like this, ever again.  
  
  
  
But the thing is, he can feel his heart whispering Harry’s name between beats, as he cradles his face and giggles against the corner of his lips, and he really doesn’t see how anything could ever come close to this.  
  
  
  
  
When they drive home from school that day, one of Harry’s mixtapes drifts through the speakers like always, Jeff Buckley’s _Hallelujah_.  
  
  
_  
Well baby I’ve been here before  
I’ve seen this room  
and I’ve walked this floor  
  
You know…I used to live alone,  
before I knew you  
  
  
_  
And Louis’s fingers tighten where they’re laced through Harry’s, a small, silent request for him to stay.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
As they drive down the familiar dirt road, Harry feels Louis’s grip tighten on his fingers where they’re folded in the middle seat, and he raises their hands to his lips, kissing the back of Louis’s palm. He’s being quiet, today. He gets like that sometimes, when his brow furrows and he chews on his bottom lip, staring off with his eyes unfocused, like he’s caught up in deep thought. And Harry never really knows what he’s thinking about. Whenever he asks, Louis just smiles and shrugs it off.  
  
  
He hopes it’s nothing bad, and more than anything, he hopes it isn’t him.  
  
  
Graceland greets them at the door when they get home, winding around their ankles as they toe out of their shoes. And then Harry lets her outside to explore the neighborhood, as she likes to do after her naps. Afterwards, they go to his room and Louis falls back on the bed with a contented sigh, watching as Harry removes his many silver rings and headscarf, shaking out his curls. Louis makes grabby-hands for Harry to come cuddle and he happily obliges, crawling in beside him.    
  
  
He lies on his stomach and turns his head to face Louis, throwing an arm across his waist. “How was your day?”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “Okay, I guess. Geography’s shit, though,” he groans, rubbing at his eyes. “Can’t be bothered to care about the capital of Botswana.”   
  
  
Harry chuckles. “I kind of liked geography. Got a ‘B’ in it.”  
  
  
Louis’s face sours. “Always knew you were abnormal.”  
  
  
“Heeeeyyy,” Harry pouts.  
  
  
And Louis smiles, turning his head to peck Harry’s nose.  
  
  
Harry scoots in closer to nuzzle at his favorite spot behind Louis’s ear, brushing his lips there.  
  
  
Louis sighs, “Missed this.”  
  
  
“Me, too,” Harry hums. “Maybe we should just quit school and live in my bed?”  
  
  
Louis winds his fingers around Harry’s curls, tugging at them gently. “Hm, don’t tempt me.”  
  
  
“Why not?” Harry murmurs, a smile in his voice as he kisses along the shell of Louis’s ear. “’M good at it.”  
  
  
Louis rolls his eyes fondly but doesn’t resist when Harry wraps his arms around him, pulling him in close to bring their lips together. The kiss is patient and unhurried as they slowly open up to each other, reveling in the closeness after being apart for so many days. Soft sighs pass between them whenever they part to take a breath, and yeah, Harry thinks, living in this bed with Louis is not a bad idea at all. Louis’s sharp little teeth begin to nibble lazily at his lower lip and he shudders, pulling the smaller boy closer against him.  
  
  
The hem of Louis’s shirt creeps up in the process, revealing an inch of skin, and he’s quick to tug it back down, covering himself. He does that a lot, almost reflexively, but Harry has never asked why, too afraid of making him feel uncomfortable.  
  
  
When their lips eventually part, Louis tucks himself under Harry’s chin, nosing along the collar of his shirt. All the while, Harry’s fingers stroke at the soft hair at the nape of Louis’s neck, carefully weighing his next words. And then he clears his throat. “Lou?”  
  
  
Louis burrows closer into his touch. “Mhm?”  
  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
  
He feels Louis freeze in his arms, tensing slightly at the question. “…Yeah?”  
  
  
“Just – it’s okay if you’re not ready or whatever, but uhm. How come I haven’t seen you with your shirt off?”  
  
  
There’s a beat of silence where Louis releases the breath he was holding, and then Harry quickly speaks again.  
  
  
“Sorry—”  
  
  
But Louis shakes his head. “No, Harry, it’s not a big deal. I just…” He pauses, sighing. “I don’t know. I don’t really like my body.”  
  
  
Harry frowns at that, tightening his hold on him. “Why not?”  
  
  
Louis sighs again, his hand clenching in Harry’s shirt. “Just…I don’t know? I’ve always been, like, _small_. And I don’t have muscles or anything, so,” he shrugs, mumbling. “I don’t like my stomach.”  
  
  
Harry is quiet for a moment, Louis’s words still ringing through the air and tugging painfully at his heart. He hates hearing him talk about himself like that.  
  
  
Louis hides his face in Harry’s neck. “…I don’t mind if you see, though,” he whispers.  
  
  
Harry rubs a hand down his back, fingertips drifting along his spine, comforting. “Do you trust me?”  
  
  
He waits until he feels Louis nod against his neck and then he slowly lays him down on his back, tucking a pillow under his head. He sits up on the bed beside him, skimming his fingers up his thighs until they reach the hem of his t-shirt. “Alright?” Harry asks, his voice soft.  
  
  
Louis nods and lifts his arms, arching his back up from the mattress as Harry carefully tugs his shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. And it’s true, Louis is a bit small, but Harry can’t find a single thing wrong with that.  
  
  
His eyes travel in tiny increments over Louis’s torso, lain completely bare and open to Harry’s gaze for the first time. He takes in the expanse of golden skin, an occasional freckle here and there, two tiny buds of his nipples, the light smattering of hair that thinly trails from his navel to his waistband, and a soft belly with just the ghost of a curve around his hips. And with each new discovery, words loop through Harry’s mind, a string of _soft_ , and _perfect_ , and _mine_.  
  
  
Louis begins to squirm under his thorough gaze, and Harry looks up to meet his eyes, shaking his head. He frowns at that, but then Harry leans down, kissing him sweetly. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs against his lips, and when Louis scoffs, he shakes his head again. “I mean it.”  
  
  
“’M not,” Louis mutters.  
  
  
“You are.”  
  
  
“ _How?_ ”  
  
  
Harry’s eyes sweep across his bare skin once again. “Your body – it’s just. I don’t want to say _cute_ —” (Louis wrinkles his nose at the word), “—‘cause I know you won’t like that but,” he shrugs. “I’ve never really been into muscles and bulk and all that. You’re just…exactly what I like.”  
  
  
Louis flushes at the admission and Harry kisses him again, skirting his hand down his chest to rub soft circles over his stomach. “I am so ridiculously attracted to you,” he hums against his lips.  
  
  
He feels Louis’s fingers tighten in his hair then, as if he’s afraid Harry will suddenly take back his words and slip away. But Harry isn’t going anywhere.  
  
  
For awhile, he explores all of the new territory, running his hands up Louis’s sides and testing the warm skin, placing his palm flat against his chest just to feel his heart knocking back against it. He flicks his thumbs over his nipples, smirking when Louis shivers at the touch. For some reason, his gaze keeps returning to Louis’s tummy, and he lies down in between his legs to get a closer look. He can’t explain why he’s so _drawn_ to it. He’s never had a thing for stomachs before, but Louis’s is just so _nice,_ all baby soft skin and the slightest bit of pudge. He spends ages rubbing his hands over his belly, peppering it with kisses, and he smiles when he hears Louis giggle above him, ticklish.  
  
  
“I really like your tummy,” he murmurs, his lips brushing at the delicate skin below his navel.  
  
  
Louis’s laugh turns into a sharp hitch of breath then as Harry’s mouth trails down from his belly button to just above his waistband, suckling little kisses into his skin along the way. Louis starts to fidget impatiently from where Harry is tucked between his legs, and he holds his hands at his waist to keep him still, his lips still fluttering dangerously low. He can _feel_ him getting hard, his cock perking up and pressing into Harry’s chest.  
  
  
He moves his lips to Louis’s hipbone, nibbling at the skin there as he maneuvers a hand between them. He palms at Louis’s cock through his jeans, feels it give an eager twitch at his touch, growing harder. He hears Louis’s breathing quicken, sees his fingers clench in the sheets as he pushes himself up into Harry’s hand. And Harry noses at his happy-trail, breathing in the scent of pure skin and musk and _Louis_.  
  
  
His mouth waters with how much he wants.  
   
  
  
  
  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Louis’s fingers twist in the sheets, biting his lip as Harry slowly rubs him through the rough material of his jeans, his mouth dragging wetly across the low valley between his hips. He has no idea exactly how long Harry’s been perched down there, practically _worshipping_ his tummy, all he knows is that he feels so hot and flushed all over, almost dizzy with how fast his heart is beating. He arches up, begging for more touch, but then Harry pulls his hand away, pressing one last kiss to his waist before sliding back up his body. His hands cup his neck as he pulls him into a kiss, licking filthily into his mouth. And Louis whines at the loss of friction against his cock, grinding his hips up against Harry’s for relief.  
  
  
Harry buries his face in Louis’s neck and mouths at the column of his throat like he’s hungry for it, nibbling gently before lapping at the bite-marks with his tongue. He sucks at his earlobe, making Louis shiver as he pants against the wet skin.  
  
  
“…Lou? There’s something else I want to ask you.”  
  
  
Louis squirms beneath him, his heart pounding against his ribcage like it’s trying like hell to escape.  
  
  
Harry kisses below his ear, his hand sliding down Louis’s chest to grip into his hip. “…Will you let me suck you off? Please?”  
  
  
Louis’s breath catches in his throat, his mind a fuzzy haze of want, and _fuck_ , they’ve never done _that_ before. He swallows nervously, nodding his head.  
  
  
“You sure?” Harry whispers, his thumb brushing along his waistband.  
  
  
“Yeah, I – yeah, Harry, want that.”  
  
  
Harry makes a sound that’s close to a growl, nosing at the nape of Louis’s neck. “ _God_ , I’ve wanted to for so long. Been dying to get my mouth on you.”  
  
  
Louis fidgets, his face hot. “Just, uhm. I probably won’t last very long,” he mutters, embarrassed.  
  
  
Harry shakes his head, kissing beneath his jaw. “S’okay. Just let me take care of you.”  
  
  
Louis has to make a conscious effort to breathe as Harry shimmies back down his torso, reclaiming his spot between his legs. His fingers work at the button on Louis’s jeans, pulling the zipper down tooth-by-tooth. He bites his lip, hooking his fingers through the belt loops. “Lift your hips,” he murmurs.  
  
  
Louis raises himself up as Harry tugs at his jeans, tossing them off the side of the bed. He’s left in nothing but a pair of navy blue boxer-briefs, and Harry stares hungrily at the bulge that strains at the front. “Okay?” he breathes, eyes flicking up to check on Louis.  
  
  
And Louis nods, his lip held tight between his teeth and body wracked with nerves. He’s never been exposed to someone like this, never had Harry this close to his dick, before.  
  
  
Harry leans in, _nuzzling_ his face at the line of Louis’s cock through the cotton as his fingers dip into the waistband of his briefs. He slowly peels them back, swallowing thickly when Louis’s cock bobs free, blushing and throbbing as it slaps against his belly. And for a moment Harry does nothing but unabashedly stare, pupils blown with arousal. “So fucking perfect,” he mutters under his breath.  
  
  
He lifts one of Louis’s legs and drapes it over his shoulder, turning his cheek to kiss at his inner thigh. He brushes his lips forward, coming dangerously close to his cock, and then pulls away again, teasing. He finds a particularly sensitive bit of skin up high on the inside of Louis’s thigh, and he latches his mouth to it, pulling a whimper from the younger boy as he sucks down hard.  
  
  
Looking down, Louis can see Harry’s head burrowed between his legs, can feel the scratch and burn of his stubble tickling against his thighs. Harry bites at the skin, then soothes away the hurt with careful licks of his tongue, over and over again, his nose and cheek occasionally brushing against his balls, and he’s so, so _close_ to where Louis wants him to be, but his mouth still feels like it’s miles away. Louis needs him so much closer.  
  
  
“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whines.  
  
  
Harry pulls his mouth away, breathing against the wet skin. “I know, baby, almost done. ‘M gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”  
  
  
Louis shudders at his words as Harry redoubles his efforts, his mouth hot and punishing as he nibbles and sucks at Louis’s skin. Then finally, he pulls away, breathing out a satisfied sigh. And Louis looks down, confused, until he sees it—a rounded bruise, blushing red and purple, and up high on his inner thigh where no one can see, like a secret only the two of them share. It’s _Harry’s_ _mark_ on his skin. And Louis never knew it would feel this good to feel so _claimed_.  
  
  
He dips his hand between his legs, brushing his fingers at the bruise, the skin still hot and a bit sore at the touch.  
  
  
Harry nuzzles against his hand, kissing his fingers. “Like it?”  
  
  
Louis nods, mesmerized, his head dropping back against the pillow when Harry puts his mouth on him again, this time ghosting his lips up the crease of his thigh. His breath hitches when he feels those lips press against the base of his cock.  
  
  
“You’re so hard, Lou,” Harry murmurs, breath hot on Louis’s skin in contrast to the cool air in the room.  
  
  
Louis doesn’t reply, just clenches his hands in the sheets, trying not to squirm as Harry kisses his way up the line of his cock, wet lips dragging and catching on the skin. His big hand wraps around the shaft, and then his tongue peeks out, pink and obscene and licking gently at his tip and – _fucking hell_.  
  
  
A tiny pearl of precome beads at his slit and Harry laps at it, catching it on his tongue. Louis feels apprehensive about him tasting something like that but -  
  
  
“ _Mmh_ ,” Harry _moans_ , eagerly wrapping tight lips around the head of his cock.  
  
  
Louis has never known _anything_ like this; the hot suck of Harry’s mouth and the careful twirl of his tongue, teasing at his swollen cock. Harry suctions his mouth to the tip, tonguing at his slit tortuously slow, coaxing out more blurts of precome. He breathes in through his nose and then sinks down, taking Louis impossibly deep, his mouth so wet and hot and perfect.  
  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” Louis mutters, mind gone to the sensation.  
  
  
Harry throws his other leg over his shoulder and scoots in even closer, his head bobbing filthily between Louis’s thighs. And Louis thinks he could come just from _watching_ Harry suck on him like this, his cheeks hollowed, eyes held blissfully closed, lips puffy and pink and fizzing with spit.  
  
  
Harry’s eyes open then, clouded over with lust and flicking upward to catch Louis watching him. He pulls back up, dragging the flat of his tongue at the sensitive underside of Louis’s cock – _Christ_. Louis’s hand involuntarily reaches out then, clenching in Harry’s curls to find purchase and pulling sharply at the strands.  
  
  
Harry makes a noise low in his throat at that and Louis quickly takes his hand away. “Sorry—”  
  
  
Harry pulls off with a wet _pop_ , letting Louis’s tip rest against his full bottom lip, his tongue still darting out to lick at him. “Baby,” he breathes, and _god_ , there’s a rasp in his voice now that wasn’t there before. “Will you – could you pull my hair, please? I liked that.”  
  
  
Louis lets out a shaky breath and then lifts his hand again. He digs his fingers into the hair at the crown of Harry’s head, nails scratching at his scalp before tugging at his curls. And Harry groans appreciatively as he sinks back down on him, sending a vibration straight through Louis’s dick that makes his toes curl, spine tingling.  
  
  
Their sounds are loud in the quiet; the wet slurp of Harry’s mouth and the breathy whimpers that keep escaping from Louis’s lips. He feels the bed moving slightly and looks down to see that it’s Harry, grinding his hips into the mattress like he can’t help himself and – Jesus, he’s getting off on this, just from sucking on Louis’s cock.  
  
  
Harry’s hand slips down to cradle the twin sacs below Louis’s shaft, rubbing them gently, and Louis’s whole body shudders. His hips buck up involuntarily into tight, wet heat, and Harry just keeps taking him deeper, only to pull up and suck mercilessly at his tip. The heat coils low in the pit of his stomach, spiraling fast…  
  
  
“Harry – stop,” he gasps, tugging harder at his hair.  
  
  
Harry pulls off immediately, glancing up to check on him. “You okay?” he asks, panting softly against his wet skin.  
  
  
Louis blushes. “I… _you know_ ,” he mutters.  
  
  
Harry runs his hands up his legs, turning his head to kiss at the inside of Louis’s thigh. “You can come in my mouth, if you want,” he murmurs.  
  
  
Louis’s brain practically short-circuits at that. He presses the palms of his hands to his temples, chuckling in disbelief at how god damn lucky he is to have this boy, with this fucking phenomenal mouth, between his legs. “Shit, Harry. You’re gonna kill me.”  
  
  
Harry smirks as he leans back down, suckling Louis’s cock between his lips once again. He slips his index finger inside his mouth as well, stroking alongside his tongue a few times before pulling it back out. And then both his hands are on Louis’s thighs, pushing his legs further apart. His hand drifts down even lower, brushing delicately at his perineum, until Louis feels that wet fingertip actually circling his _hole_ –  
  
  
“ _Oh."_  
  
  
His eyes widen, breaths coming in harsh pants and senses completely torn between the two stimuli – Harry’s mouth hot and tight as it pulls on his cock and his fingertip teasing at his rim, hesitantly seeking permission.  
  
  
Louis spreads his legs, welcoming the touch, and Harry redoubles his efforts at his permission. He traces his finger around the tight ring of muscle once again, before pressing down hard on Louis’s rim, his fingertip fluttering and pulsing against it, back and forth.  
  
  
“Oh my – _Harry_ – nnh – ”  
  
  
And just like that, he’s sent over the edge, back arching up from the bed as he spills into Harry's mouth.   
  
  
Harry swallows around him slowly and carefully, afterwards dropping his head to rest against Louis’s hipbone as he catches his breath. Meanwhile, Louis lies back on the pillow, completely sated, heart still pounding, and _holy shit_.  
  
  
Eventually, Harry pulls Louis’s boxer-briefs back on for him and crawls up his body, kissing at the heated skin below his ear.  
  
  
“Good?”   
  
  
Louis dazedly nods his head. “I – wow. Really good,” he breathes, not making much sense, but he feels Harry smile against his neck anyway.  
  
  
Harry cuddles him for a bit before sitting up, moving towards the edge of the bed. And Louis frowns as he stands up. “Where are you going?”  
  
  
“Bathroom.” He chuckles, pointing to the bulge that still strains at the front of his jeans. “Going to take care of this.”  
  
  
Louis fidgets, biting his lip. “You don’t have to leave.”  
  
  
Harry freezes and looks up at him, eyes uncertain. “You – are you sure?”  
  
  
Louis nods, a little shy. He scoots over on the bed so Harry will come back.  
  
  
Harry shrugs, standing at the foot of the bed, and Louis watches as he pulls his shirt off, tossing it into the hamper. His hands move to the fly of his jeans then, working almost gracefully at the button, pulling the zip down. He slowly peels them off and stands unabashedly before Louis, in nothing but his black briefs.   
  
  
He climbs back onto the bed, settling against the pillows and lifting an arm so that Louis can curl against his side. He rests his head on his chest, watching in fascination as Harry’s hand slides down his own torso. He grips at his length over the cotton, giving it a squeeze, teasing himself. Louis can see his dick twitching eagerly inside his briefs, and fuck, that’s hot.  
  
  
Louis clears his throat. “Can you, like, take these off?”  
  
  
Harry’s hand stills, turning his head to meet Louis’s eyes.  
  
  
Louis blushes, embarrassed. “I want to see you.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, pressing a kiss to Louis’s forehead before he obligingly lifts his hips, pulling his briefs down over his thighs, and lying naked beside him for the first time. And Louis’s mouth falls open a bit at the sight.  
  
  
Harry is _huge_. Which, Louis already knew he was big just from feeling him through his pants but – _shit_. His cock is just _perfect_ , thick and long and rounded at the bulbous tip, blushing pink with arousal, with a singular, pulsing vein trailing obscenely up one side. Louis never knew that he could actually consider a dick to be beautiful until he saw Harry’s. He watches as his hand dips down to tease at his balls before gripping at the base, releasing a shaky breath as he clenches a fist around himself.  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly. “You’re – it’s really _big_ ,” he whispers, voice laced with awe.  
  
  
Harry doesn’t say anything, but he feels him smirk against his hair.  
  
  
He watches as Harry tugs himself off, and he knows that if his own dick wasn’t already spent from his first ever blow job, he would probably be close to coming again just from hearing the way Harry’s breath hitches as he touches himself, emitting needy little gasps. He pulls upward, twisting his grip, his fist curling and pumping around the swollen head. His slit is pink and wet, leaking precome, and he trails his fingers through it, getting himself wet.  
  
  
Louis feels a sudden urge to kiss Harry and he tilts his chin up, silently asking for his lips. Harry eagerly responds, pressing in close and licking into his mouth with a groan as he pumps at his length.  
  
  
Louis pulls back in surprise after a moment, staring curiously at Harry’s lips. “…Is that what I taste like?”    
  
  
“Mhmm,” Harry murmurs, smiling against his lips as he kisses him again.  
  
  
Louis pulls away when Harry’s breathing starts to quicken, tucking himself under his chin to press kisses to his neck, where his pulse flutters in his throat. Slowly, his hand travels down his torso, and Harry grunts when he pushes his fist away from his cock, replacing it with his own. It pulses against his palm, thick and slightly damp with precome as he slides his hand over the tip, up and down.  
  
  
“Like that?” Louis whispers, a little unsure.  
  
  
“Yeah, just like that,” Harry coaxes, voice low and rough. “And then like, twist your hand when you come up –”  
  
  
Harry hisses in delight when Louis obeys. He plays with his dick for awhile, experimenting until he grows more confident with his movements. All he wants is to make Harry come. He kisses his ear, sucking on the lobe as he thumbs at his weeping slit, and Harry gasps, pushing himself up into his hand.  
  
  
He kisses Louis’s hair. “Perfect, baby. Your hand feels so good on me.”  
  
  
Louis flushes with pleasure at the praise, nuzzling against Harry’s neck as he tugs at him even faster, tightening his grip. He feels Harry shiver beside him, his cock heavy and twitching against his palm, the tip wet and leaking, flushed with his need to come.  
  
  
“God, Lou. M’close – ”  
  
  
And with just a few more pulls, he’s spilling into Louis’s hand and across his stomach, wet and white and warm.  
  
  
  
  
Afterwards, they wander down the hall to the bathroom to clean themselves up, wiping the dried come off of Harry’s abdomen with soap and water from the sink. Harry picks Louis up and sets him down on the countertop, stepping between his thighs. He smiles as he presses a damp cloth to the heated skin of his forehead, kissing him there.  
  
  
“Was that okay?”  
  
  
Louis rolls his eyes, the fond bubbling up inside his chest. “You always ask that.”  
  
  
“Yeah, but – we’ve never gone that far, before.”  
  
  
Louis shrugs. “I liked it.”  
  
  
Harry dries his hands on a towel, and then strokes his fingers through Louis’s fringe. “I just worry sometimes that I’ll make you feel uncomfortable or like, pressured?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. “You never do. I…want these things. I want all of this. With you,” he pauses, swallowing thickly at his own words, knowing they carry so much weight, knowing how much he really _means it_ , how much he really does want _everything_ with Harry. “You always make me feel so comfortable though, and like, check on me. And I like that.”  
  
  
Harry sighs in relief, smiling as he wraps his arms around Louis’s waist, pulling him into a hug. And Louis rests his head inside the crook of Harry’s shoulder, yawning tiredly.  
  
  
Harry rubs a hand down his back. “Wanna go take a nap? You wore me out, honestly.”  
  
  
Louis laughs, tutting indignantly. “I think _you’re_ the one who wore _me_ , out.”  
  
  
And Harry chuckles against his hair, wrapping Louis's legs around his waist before carrying him back down the hall to his room.  
  
  
They climb into bed, still naked except for their briefs as they tuck themselves under the duvet. As always, Harry scoots in close behind Louis, spooning him in with an arm draped around his waist, holding him close to his chest. And Louis laces their fingers together, his eyes dropping closed.  
  
  
It’s quiet for a moment, until Harry sighs against his hair. “You make me so happy, Louis,” he breathes. “I really hope you know that.”  
  
  
  
The words catch Louis’s breath, and his fingers clench around Harry’s, the tip of his tongue burning with every word he's too afraid to say.  
  
  
  
  
  
Because he loves him.  
  
  
  
  
  
He's so in love with him.  
  
  
  
  
  
And everything he loves goes away.  



	8. Chapter 8

  
  
It’s December, and Louis is in love.  
  
  
  
One Friday night, he’s sitting on Harry’s couch while the older boy is on the floor in front of him, tucked between his legs. Louis bites the tip of his tongue in concentration as he braids a small section of Harry’s hair, after some persistent pouting and begging on Harry’s part (and honestly, how could Louis ever say ‘no’ to _that_ face?) He had never braided anything before in his life, but after a couple of tries, he thinks he’s finally got the hang of it.  
  
  
Granted, it would probably be an easier task if Harry wasn’t simultaneously his worst and absolute favorite distraction, skimming his hands up and down Louis’s legs the whole time, rubbing softly at his ankles, and turning his head to kiss at his inner thigh, his breath warm and ghosting through his jeans.  
  
  
Louis feels his pants tighten whenever the kisses get a little _too_ teasing, and he tugs on Harry’s hair as punishment. It doesn’t work, of course. Harry just groans indulgently at the treatment, nosing further along Louis’s inseam. He loves having his hair pulled.  
  
  
Louis rolls his eyes, tilting Harry’s head back to meet his gaze and failing to give him a stern look. “Behave, you menace,” Louis commands.  
  
  
Harry just chuckles. “Like it when you’re bossy.”  
  
  
Louis ignores that, bites his lip and shakes his head. He twists the last few strands of hair into place before tucking them back with a pin. “Okay…that should be good, I think.”  
  
  
Harry turns around to face him then and Louis admires his own work, preening as he rearranges an unruly curl with his fingertips, his heart ready to burst at the sight of Harry with a braid in his hair, and that ridiculous dimple pressed into his cheek. He’s always so lovely.  
  
  
Harry raises a hand to gently touch at his braid. “How do I look?”  
  
  
Louis smiles. “Pretty.”  
  
  
“You’re pretty,” Harry hums, leaning in to softly peck at Louis’s lips. “Thank you, baby. Ready to go?”  
  
  
Louis nods, tugging at his sweater as he stands up from the couch. He pulls his shoes on at the door while Harry searches for his keys, and then they step out into the night. The winter wind is cold and biting, making Harry’s skin look luminescent in the moonlight, his cheeks a rosy shade of pink. He tucks Louis under his arm like always, huddling close together on the short walk to the truck.  
  
  
The engine revs into life with a low growl. Louis slips his hands between his thighs while he waits for the heat to kick in, and Harry fiddles with the radio dials. It’s become a routine that Louis never seems to grow tired of, being tucked in the passenger seat of Harry’s truck like this, sharing a companionable silence, or listening to Harry’s aimless stories, or the rasp in his voice when he sings. And the things they say when they’re not saying anything.  
  
  
They drive through the neighborhood for awhile, pausing occasionally at houses lined with strings of twinkling lights, strung from the rooftops like icicles. And Louis feels that same old nostalgia that always comes with Christmastime, something as cheerful as it is melancholy.  
  
  
Eventually, they come to a stop at a house on the cusp of a dead-end street, parking in the grass alongside rows of other cars. There are no Christmas lights on this house, just a plastic, dimly lit snowman propped up by the front door, and a group of people smoking near the garage. It’s a homecoming party; one of Harry’s old friends from high school is back in town for winter vacation.  
  
  
They hear muffled music and chatter coming from inside, growing louder as they step up to the front porch, and Louis is nervous. He’s never been around any of Harry’s friends before, except for Zayn. He doesn’t think they’ll like him very much, and when they step inside the house, he’s half-expecting Harry to pull away from him, embarrassed of his friends finding out that he’s involved with some unknown kid like Louis. And Louis wouldn’t blame him for it; he’s not sure why the hell Harry is with him, either.  
  
  
And so his belly flutters with gratitude and a bit of surprise when Harry keeps his hand held on the small of Louis’s back the whole time, his fingers curling into his hip, a gesture that says, _I’m his and he’s mine._  
  
  
“There’s Nick,” Harry says after a moment, pointing towards the corner of the living room where a small circle of people is gathered. “I’d better go say ‘hi.’”  
  
  
Louis nods, giving Harry’s sweater a small tug. “’M gonna get a drink. You want anything?”  
  
  
Harry hums. “See if there’s any of that beer I like in the fridge? If not, I’ll take whatever’s there.”  
  
  
“’Kay.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, kissing his hair with a ‘thank you,’ before turning away.  
  
  
The party is a few shades different from the first one Louis went to at Niall’s house. It’s notably less crowded, and for the most part, seems to be made up of subdued college kids rather than rowdy high schooler’s who haven’t learned their limits yet. Louis thinks he prefers this, though, the atmosphere soft and languid as opposed to manic and dizzying.  
  
  
He’s easily one of the youngest people there, but no one seems to mind. Their stares are curious instead of judgmental as he carefully passes through the crowd in search of the kitchen, finding it towards the front of the house. It’s relatively empty inside, except for two girls who are propped against the counter, pink-cheeked and giggling as they tip coconut rum into their glasses. He waits for them to clear out before browsing through the selection of bottles that clutter the countertop, deciding to play it safe with a familiar brand of vodka that Barbara likes.  
  
  
He fetches Harry’s beer, the bottle cold against his palm, and stands up on his tip-toes to reach a stack of red plastic cups that sits on top of the refrigerator. His fingertips graze the side of the cups, _almost there_ , and he’s about to curse his short stature when suddenly, he feels someone step up from behind him, brushing against his back.  
  
  
Louis startles, turning around, and he’s faced with a boy he’s never seen before, tall and lean with sandy hair and an eyebrow piercing. The boy reaches the cups with ease, smiling as he offers one to Louis. “Here ya go.”  
  
  
Louis smiles back politely, taking a cup from the stack. “Thanks.”  
  
  
The boy holds out his hand then. “I’m Caleb.”  
  
  
“Louis,” he says, shaking his hand.  
  
  
Louis digs some ice cubes out of the freezer, and he can feel the boy’s eyes on his back, watching as he waits his turn. He quickly moves out of the way and returns to the drink counter, unscrewing the cap on the vodka. Caleb steps up beside him only moments later, reaching for a big bottle of Jack Daniel’s.  
  
  
“So, why haven’t I seen you before?” Caleb asks, making conversation.  
  
  
Louis pours some vodka over his ice, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell. “Oh, uhm. I just moved here in September.”  
  
  
"You look so young," he chuckles, his gaze sweeping up and down Louis's body, looking him over. "How old are you?”  
  
  
“I’ll be seventeen on Christmas Eve,” Louis says with a shrug, adding some soda to his cup.  
  
  
Caleb nods, smiling. “Cute.”  
  
  
Louis glances up at the boy, and it’s only then that he realizes just how he’s looking at him. He’s observing Louis closely, his eyes slightly narrowed, with a small smirk on his lips. It reminds Louis of the way animals gauge their prey, hungry and predatorial, like he's thinking of a hundred ways to claim him. And suddenly he doesn’t feel so comfortable talking to this boy, anymore.  
  
  
“You know,” Caleb says then, leaning suggestively against the counter. “I’m next on the beer pong table, and I could use a partner.”  
  
  
Louis forces a laugh, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’m really shit at beer pong.”  
  
  
Caleb shrugs his shoulders and takes a step closer to him, undeterred. “I don’t mind.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head again. “Er – I shouldn’t, sorry.”  
  
  
“Why not?” Caleb asks, still smiling at him in a lascivious way that makes Louis’s skin crawl.  
  
  
“Well…uhm-”  
  
  
  
An arm slips around Louis’s waist then, and he knows who it is without even having to look up, immediately, like muscle memory. He holds back a sigh of relief as he sinks into Harry’s side, the tension already draining from his body.  
  
  
“Find everything okay?” Harry asks him gently.  
  
  
Louis nods, feeling a bit awkward as he hands him his beer. Harry's gaze shifts to Caleb then, giving him a _look_ , and Caleb just shrugs his shoulders, still smirking as he steps around them and slips out through the doorway.  
  
  
They’re left alone then, standing in a kitchen that is far too quiet, except for the noise from the party in the next room, and the low hum of the refrigerator. Harry is staring straight ahead, his body stiff, and Louis can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers are wrapped extra tightly around his beer bottle.  
  
  
Louis fidgets, looking up at him guiltily. “Sorry,” he rushes to explain, “I – he just started talking to me, I didn’t –”  
  
  
Harry blinks, furrowing his brow as he’s pulled from his reverie. “What?” He looks down at him incredulously. “Louis, _no_. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I just…really don’t like that guy.”  
  
  
Relieved, Louis nods, shifting on his feet. “He was...kinda pushy.”  
  
  
Harry looks at him, brows pulled together in concern. “Did he, like, touch you or anything?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head.  
  
  
Harry swallows solemnly. “Listen…I don’t want to tell you what to do but – he kind of has a reputation for going after younger guys at parties. He gets them messed up so he can – can fool around with them. So just…be careful around him, okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, repressing a shiver at the memory of Caleb’s eyes on him, the way they narrowed impulsively when Louis told him how old he was.  
  
  
But Harry always makes him feel so _safe_ , and he’s overwhelmed with the need to fall into him, so he does, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug. Harry welcomes it effortlessly, his arms encompassing Louis’s shoulders.  
  
  
  
And he wants to tell him that he loves him, but he can’t. Instead, he buries his face in Harry’s sweater. “You always take care of me,” he mumbles, and he feels Harry smile against his hair, before dotting the top of his head with tiny kisses.    
  
  
When they pull apart, Harry sips at his beer, pressing his mouth to the back of his hand. “Oh, and uhm. Just so you know…Laura is here.”  
  
  
Louis freezes then, momentarily caught off guard at the name. “…Your ex?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nods. “It’s not a big deal or anything, I just figured I’d tell you.” He looks at him sheepishly. “Is – is that okay?”  
  
  
Louis ignores the small, nagging feeling in his gut and nods his head, feigning nonchalance. “Yeah.”  
  
  
He can’t help but to take a step to the side then, peering through the doorway into the next room. “Uhm, so…which one is she?”  
  
  
Harry discreetly glances over his shoulder, and then looks back at Louis. “The one in the pink sweater.”  
  
  
Louis spots her easily through the crowd. And then his heart sinks. “Wow,” he says, hoping Harry can’t detect the disappointment in his voice. “She’s – really beautiful.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Harry nods indifferently, taking another pull from his beer. He hands Louis his drink then. “Ready to go back out there?”  
  
  
Louis nods, and he’s so, so thankful when Harry’s hand returns to his hip as they walk out of the kitchen together. Suddenly, he’s feeling rather possessive.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Maybe half an hour passes before Barbara, Niall, and Liam show up at the front door, and Louis is more than happy to see them. It’s a genuine relief to recognize some familiar faces in a sea of strangers like this, and truthfully, he’s been feeling guilty about sticking to Harry’s side all night long. Harry never once complains about it of course, but Louis knows he must be getting tired of having someone cling to him so much. This is supposed to be a night for him to catch up with his friends; he shouldn’t have to babysit his boyfriend the entire time just because he doesn't know anybody. So, eventually, Louis pecks Harry's cheek before reluctantly detaching himself from the crook of his arm.  
  
  
And he misses the slight frown on Harry’s face, as he watches Louis walk away.  
  
   
  
  
  
  
Louis tags along with Barbara and the others for a while, getting tipsy and talking loud, declining drink offers from random drunk people who are equal parts friendly and overly-affectionate, but Louis just laughs, feeling good.  
  
  
Somehow, they end up in the backyard when Niall and another boy named Josh are dared to shotgun some beers. They stand around in a circle on the grass, huddled together in the cold, while Niall bravely strips out of his coat. Shirtless, he stabs at a beer can with a steak knife and then stems the flow with his mouth, chugging it down while everyone cheers. And Louis doesn't think he's ever seen anyone enjoy being alive the way that Niall does.  
  
  
When he’s finished, he howls like a wolf and cups his palms over his exposed nipples, hardened by the wind. “Could cut through glass with these,” he announces with a wide grin, and everyone laughs.  
  
  
Barbara rolls her eyes, but Louis can see the fondness hidden there in her gaze.  
  
  
  
It’s a feeling he knows all too well.  
  
  
  
Someone lights up a joint and passes it around but Louis waves it away when Liam offers it to him, not wanting to be too fucked up in front of a bunch of strangers. And really, he doesn't care to smoke unless he's with Harry. Sometimes he'll experience paranoid highs, and Harry just cuddles him close to his chest, letting Louis listen to his heart beat to calm him down. Harry is always like that; a constant, comforting presence at Louis's side, a weight that anchors him when he feels himself floating a little too far away. And Louis never wants to lose that. It scares him that he doesn't know how much longer it's going to last, how much time he has left.   
  
  
  
  
  
When the joint is burned down to a stub, they all file back inside the house, and Louis figures he’s been away from Harry long enough that it would be acceptable to find him, again. He pauses in the doorway of the living room, peeking around until he spots Harry in the corner, caught up in conversation with the guy named Nick. He can’t see Louis from where he’s standing, so Louis waits, wondering if it would be rude to interrupt.  
  
  
He’s about to turn away when he sees a flash of pink, and suddenly he’s frozen in place, a chill in his bones that has nothing to do with the cold from outside.  
   
  
His gaze attaches to Laura, watching as she slowly makes her way over to Harry. And then he hears her say ‘hello,’ her voice feminine and friendly. She opens her arms and pulls him into a brief hug, and Louis feels his skin prickle with irrational jealousy like he’s never felt before. Harry looks a bit taken aback, but pats her politely on the shoulder before pulling away.  
  
  
And then the three of them are talking, and Louis can’t hear a word they’re saying. He can’t hear anything, really, except for a terrible voice in the back of his head, hissing at him, and he’s helpless against it. He’s so fucking helpless.  
  
  
  
_That’s who Harry should really be with.  
  
  
  
She’s better than you.  
  
  
  
He would probably still be with her if he had the choice, anyway.  
  
  
  
She’s the one who ended it, remember? Not him.  
  
  
  
I’ll bet he misses being with a girl.  
  
  
  
He’s got to be getting tired of you, by now._  
  
  
  
All the while, Louis’s stomach is churning and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip and there’s still a party going on around him, but it feels like everything has stopped.   
  
  
And the thing is, he doesn’t _want_ to be like this. He doesn’t want to think these things, or feel like some kind of crazy, possessive boyfriend. It’s not as if he’s witnessing anything sordid, or catching Harry in some deceitful act. After all, they’re just making polite conversation, keeping an arm’s length apart. It really shouldn’t be a big deal. And he _trusts_ Harry.  
  
  
But Louis can’t help but think of how good they look together. Because he’s so beautiful, and so is she. And she’s his own age, and they were together for _two years_ , have a past together. And he wonders how many secrets they still share between them, wonders if it hurts at all when they see each other like this. If they still get butterflies, if they remember what it used to be like. If they miss it.  
  
  
There’s something ugly clawing at Louis’s insides, his own insecurities threatening to bury him alive. And he just can’t look anymore.  
  
  
He disappears back down the hall and wanders upstairs. And when he finds Barbara, he asks if he can have the rest of her drink, hoping to god that it’s something strong.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It doesn’t take long before Louis is pliant and drunk, standing in one of the upstairs bedrooms and watching rounds of some drinking game that involves quarters and a deck of cards. The liquor has made him sleepy, but at the very least, the voice in his head has gone quiet.  
  
  
He wonders what Harry is doing.  
  
  
Someone hooks up a karaoke machine in the corner of the room and Niall is quick to grab one of the microphones, selecting “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,” and drunkenly botching the lyrics, inserting swear words wherever he sees fit. At the table, Liam flips a coin and cheers excitedly when it lands on _tails_. He seems to be very good at these games, no matter how intoxicated he gets.  
  
  
Louis stifles a yawn behind his fist, jerking back into alertness when two strong arms wrap around his waist from behind. And then he feels the warmth of Harry’s mouth, pressing softly against the nape of his neck and nosing at his hair.  
  
  
“ _Baby_ ,” he murmurs, a whisper only the two of them can hear.  
  
  
And Louis can’t help but smile, sinking back into Harry’s touch.  
  
  
Harry holds him tighter against his chest, peppering the back of his neck with needy little kisses, not caring if anyone watches his open displays of affection. And _god_ , Louis needs this more than anything in the world right now – to have Harry _want_ him like this.  
  
  
“Hi,” Louis whispers, turning to kiss Harry’s temple.  
  
  
“You okay?” Harry asks.  
  
  
Louis nods his head. “Yeah.”  
  
  
“Gonna be ready to leave soon?”  
  
  
Louis nods again. “’M ready now.”  
  
  
And just like that, Harry takes Louis’s hand and then he’s guiding him down the stairs and out of the house, bidding goodbyes as they go.  
  
  
  
On the way home, Louis curls in on himself in the passenger seat and rests his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his eyes dropping closed. His head is still hazy from the liquor and his mind keeps betraying him, taunting him with the image of Laura pulling Harry into a hug. He wonders if seeing her again made him realize how much he still wants to be with her, that Louis just isn't enough to take her place. Even if it's the truth, he knows that Harry would never tell him that; he's far too kind. Instead, he would let him down gently, and Louis would scramble to figure out how to let him go.  
  
  
He uses his own arm as a pillow, burrowing his face against his sleeve. And he doesn't notice when Harry keeps throwing worried glances at him. He doesn’t say anything, just drives, the volume down low.  
  
  
When they get back to the house, Louis kicks off his shoes and plops down on the couch with a yawn, rubbing tiredly at his eyes.  
  
  
Harry is still watching him, biting his lip. He clears his throat. “You – are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods, leaning his head on his hand. “Yeah. Just tired.”  
  
  
Harry wanders into the kitchen then, reappearing a moment later with a glass of ice water in his hand. He offers it to Louis, hesitating, before sitting down beside him on the couch.  
  
  
“Thank you,” Louis whispers, taking several grateful sips.  
  
  
  
The silence that happens afterwards is heavy and devastating, carrying the weight of every word they’re not saying, and Louis is at a loss. It’s never been like this before, never this kind of silence, and never with Harry. He stares down at the carpet and wonders if this is the end, if Harry is thinking up things to say, ways to leave.   
  
  
  
He flinches when Harry clears his throat.  
  
  
  
“Louis…” he says, his voice quiet. “Are you…happy? With me?”  
  
  
  
Louis’s head snaps up then, eyes widening as he stares perplexedly at Harry. He wasn’t expecting that. “Wha—? Of course I am. Why would you even ask that?”  
  
  
Harry stares down at his lap where he’s twisting his fingers together, and for the first time, he looks so _small_. “Just – I don’t know. Sometimes it’s like, I could _swear_ you’re really happy…but then other times you’ll get quiet or pull away and like, zone out I guess? And – and when I ask what’s wrong you just kind of shrug it off and I don’t – I want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything but if - if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong, I guess I understand. But please,” he pauses, taking a shaky breath. “Please tell me if it’s _me_.”  
  
  
Louis gapes at him, any sense of tiredness from before completely evaporated. He can barely process any of Harry’s words before he’s speaking again, staring miserably down at his hands.  
  
  
“Louis, if I don’t make you happy – if I _can’t_ make you happy—”  
  
  
Without a second thought, Louis is pushing himself up and climbing onto Harry’s lap, cradling his face in his little hands and shaking his head, his heart clenching painfully. “Harry – no. Please, stop.”  
  
  
He can’t bear the way Harry is looking at him, staring up at him with those big green eyes that he loves so much, his brow pulled together and lips turned down in a frown, and he looks so _wounded_ , and Louis hates himself, fucking _hates_ himself for hurting Harry like this.  
  
  
_How_ could he be so careless? How could he ever let Harry think that _he's_  the problem, when Louis is the one with some kind of fucked up, inherent need for self-preservation. Harry makes him so incredibly happy that Louis has been pulling away, distancing himself so that it won’t hurt as much when Harry inevitably leaves, and in doing that – in his selfish attempts to protect _himself_ , he failed to realize that he was hurting _Harry_. He swallows his own self-loathing and panics, scrambling to fix this.  
  
  
“Harry, you – please don’t ever think you can’t make me happy. You _always_ do. I – I’ve never been this happy in my life. Never. I _know_ I haven’t,” he breathes, his voice trembling a bit around the edges.  
  
  
Harry looks up at him, lips tugging up into a sad smile. "Really?" he breathes.  
  
  
"Really," Louis nods. "You're _so_ good to me, Harry, I swear to god you are." He swallows thickly, shaking his head. “And I think...I think that’s what's wrong - that's what scares me so much.”  
  
  
Harry searches his eyes, confused. “What are you scared of?”  
  
  
He exhales, his gaze dropping down to his lap. “Losing you,” he admits, his voice just above a whisper. He shakes his head. “Because I don’t…I still don’t understand it.”  
  
  
“Understand what?”  
  
  
Louis sighs. “Why you would want to be with me.”  
  
  
Harry’s eyes widen, looking up at him sadly. “Louis…" he breathes, "baby, I –”  
  
  
“It’s stupid, I know,” Louis cuts him off, avoiding his eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, I just…” he shrugs, defeated.  
  
  
"Hey," Harry brushes his hands at Louis's arms, comforting. “Look at me,” he whispers gently, tilting Louis’s head up to meet his eyes, wide open and trusting. “You won’t lose me,” he says with a resolute shake of his head. “I’m not leaving unless you tell me to.”  
  
  
Louis’s breath catches, and he wants more than anything to _believe_ , to smother that shred of doubt at the back of his mind. Because Harry doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve any of this. But for some reason, he’s still here.  
  
  
  
Harry’s hands cup his face, and he kisses him, soft, needy little brushes of lips, before he pulls Louis close against his chest, burrowing into his neck like a child. Louis holds him impossibly closer and pets his hair, and more than anything in the world, he wishes Harry could be something he could keep forever.  
  
  
He feels Harry exhale against him, and then he says it. Like he’s been waiting all along to say it. Like he’s been holding his breath the entire time.  
  
  
  
“I love you so much, Louis.”  
  
  
  
Louis’s eyes widen, fingers clenching in his hair, feeling both elated and fucking terrified. His heart pulses viscerally in his chest, beating just for Harry. “...I love you, too,” he whispers, the words sounding completely foreign on his own tongue.  
  
  
He never wants to stop saying them.  
  
  
  
  
They stay like that for a while, just holding each other close without speaking, Harry rubbing soft circles into his back, until he feels him yawn against his neck.  
  
  
Louis stands up from the couch then, stretching his arms up over his head, and he frowns at the smell of alcohol and smoke that’s still clinging to his clothes from the party.  
  
  
“Uhm, can I take a shower?”  
  
  
Harry nods sleepily, and Louis follows him down the hall to the bathroom. Louis leans back against the wall, watching as Harry digs a towel out of the linen closet, dropping it down on the counter next to the sink.  
  
  
He turns to leave but then pauses, looking shyly up at Louis as he shifts his feet.  
  
  
“Uhm…is it okay if I take one with you?” he asks, his voice quiet and unsure.  
  
  
Louis’s heart skips a beat, weighed down with nerves, and then he nods his head.  
  
  
Harry smiles gently, stepping closer. He pulls Louis’s sweater up and over his head, dropping it to the floor, and then Louis returns the favor. They slowly tug each other out of their clothing, one by one, until they’re standing naked together on the cold tiles.  
  
  
Harry turns, twisting at the shower taps. “It takes a bit for the water to heat up,” he tells him.  
  
  
Louis wraps his arms around himself. “’M cold.”  
  
  
Harry closes the lid to the toilet and sits down, reaching out for him. “C’mere, baby.”  
  
  
Louis releases a nervous breath as his feet cross the tile, and then he lowers himself down onto Harry’s lap, straddling him. Harry pulls him in close so that their chests are touching, and Louis shivers at the feel of his heated skin, smooth and bare against his own. He looks down at Harry and their eyes lock, listening to the water softly padding against the shower floor.  
  
  
Goosebumps erupt all over Louis’s arms as Harry’s hand slides up his back, digging his fingers into his hair before pulling him into a kiss.  
  
  
It’s needy and desperate, quickly bypassing any sense of reverence as they push and pull at each other, clambering for more. There is something charged between them now, electric in its intensity. Louis combs his fingers through Harry’s curls, pulling the pin from his hair to unravel the braid. He scratches his nails at his scalp and tugs playfully at the strands, making Harry hum happily into his mouth.  
  
  
Louis pulls back then, smiling when Harry chases him with a whine, capturing his lips once again. And Louis gently licks at his bottom lip with his tongue, his arms wrapping around Harry’s neck to pull him even closer.  
  
  
He can feel Harry growing hard beneath him, big and unrelenting, and he squirms in his lap, making Harry break the kiss with a gasp, his hips snapping up involuntarily. Louis opens his eyes then, staring back at Harry curiously. His pupils are blown, hair a wild tangle of curls, and his mouth is _obscene_ , puffy and pink and wet from being kissed.  
  
  
Biting his lip, Louis raises himself up experimentally and then slowly lowers back down, shifting so that Harry’s cock is pressing hard up against his bum.  
  
  
Harry hisses, head dropping back, “ _Fuck_ , Lou.” His hands clench where they grasp at Louis’s waist.  
  
  
Louis wiggles his hips, mesmerized by how Harry shudders beneath him, the muscles of his abs twitching. And Harry pulls him into another filthy kiss, breathing heavily against his lips as Louis keeps squirming on his lap.  
  
  
Harry gets a hand between them then, wrapping it around Louis’s cock, flushed and hard where it’s resting against his stomach. He thumbs at the head, groaning when he finds a bead of precome there, weeping from the slit. Louis is always embarrassed by how fast his dick starts to leak, but Harry seems to _love_ it.  
  
  
“Already so wet for me,” he murmurs approvingly.  
  
  
And Louis squeaks as he’s suddenly lifted up, his legs automatically locking around Harry’s waist as he stands, pushing them into the tiny shower. He lingers under the hot spray for a moment, kissing Louis as he cradles him in his arms, warming them up and getting them wet. And then he’s pushing him back against the tiled wall, his legs still wrapped around Harry’s waist.  
  
  
“Want you,” Harry breathes like it's paining him, mouthing at his neck, “Want you so much.”  
  
  
Louis’s whole body trembles, clinging to Harry as the steam rises around them in soft tufts. “You have me,” he mutters, mindlessly rutting his hips to relieve the dull throb in his cock, sliding it against Harry’s belly.  
  
  
The movement causes Harry’s cock to slip in between his legs, heavy and swollen and pressing up high on the inside of his thigh. And Louis hears him swallow thickly, kissing at a spot behind his ear.  
  
  
“Louis,” he whispers, voice low and breathless and just a little bit hesitant. “Have you…have you ever thought about…me being inside you?”  
  
  
Louis freezes, his eyes widening, but for fuck’s sake, _of course_ he’s thought about that.  
  
  
“Not tonight,” Harry hastens to add when he doesn’t answer, “Just – eventually? Maybe?”  
  
  
“I – yeah, Harry. Want that,” Louis whispers, nodding reassuringly.  
  
  
“Yeah?” Harry murmurs, nipping at his throat. He finds Louis’s pulse point and latches his mouth to it, sucking leisurely. “What have you thought about?”  
  
  
Louis blushes furiously at the question, chewing on his lip.  
  
  
“Hm?” Harry presses. “You can tell me.”  
  
  
Louis gulps. “Just, uhm. You – you taking care of me. Making me feel good.”  
  
  
Harry hums. “I’d make it so good for you, Lou. Promise.”  
  
  
Louis blushes even harder. “What, uhm – what would you do?”  
  
  
He feels Harry smile against his neck, his hands sliding down his torso. “I’d have to get my hands on you first, wanna touch you everywhere. Your gorgeous tummy and thighs, and _this_ —” His hands move to grip at Louis’s ass then, fingers kneading at the flesh and pulling his cheeks apart. He pushes his thick cock into the little gap there, warm and snug between Louis’s cheeks, and releases a shaky breath.  
  
  
" _Shit_ ," he murmurs, still mouthing aimlessly at Louis's throat. He keeps talking, his voice like gravel. “I’d like to take my time with you, go nice and slow...but it’s really up to you.” He licks at the water droplets on Louis’s neck. “Remember the first night I touched you? Remember what I told you?”  
  
  
Louis shivers, nodding his head. “...That you would do anything," he breathes.  
  
  
Harry smiles. “That’s right. Anything you want. Anything for you.”  
  
  
Harry pulls his hips back and then pushes forward again, slowly fucking into the warm, tight little nook at the cleft of Louis’s bum, the shower water giving him a slippery glide. The bulbous head of his cock catches on Louis’s rim, circling teasingly, and Louis whimpers, completely overwhelmed. His nails dig into Harry’s back.  
  
  
Harry begins to pant against his neck, nipping at his earlobe as he grinds against him, pinning him to the shower wall. “ _God_...I can’t wait to be inside you, watch you come apart on my cock. Always so pretty when you come.”  
  
  
“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whines. “I – I’m _close_.”  
  
  
“Already?” Harry asks, but he’s smiling, voice soft and pupils blown with want. “…You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?”  
  
  
Louis flushes, embarrassed, and Harry kisses him sweetly. “It’s okay, baby. ‘M close, too. You feel—” he grunts, quickening the pace of his hips. “— _really_ good like this.”  
  
  
Harry gets his fist around Louis’s cock then, kissing him languid and slow as they gasp into each other’s mouths. He tugs him off, twisting his grip on the upstroke while still pushing himself between Louis’s legs. The tip of Harry’s cock keeps nudging filthily against his hole, smearing precome, and Louis _aches_ for it, can’t imagine how full he would feel with Harry inside of him.  
  
  
He’s even  _dreamed_ about it; all of the things he’s too embarrassed to say aloud...Harry taking control, his big hands around his waist, holding him down and fucking into him hard and fast and then soft and slow, making him arch and whine, desperate to come. Harry’s breath warm against his neck, murmuring praises, Harry’s voice…  
  
  
“ _Lou_ – baby,” Harry groans then, his hands gripping into Louis’s flesh as he pitches himself forward.  
  
  
“Coming – gonna come,” Louis whimpers, and Harry pulls back to watch his face as he orgasms with a cry, spilling over Harry’s fingers.

  
  
After that, it only takes a few pulls of Harry’s hand on his own cock before he’s adding to the mess on Louis’s belly. And then he collapses against him, hearts pounding where their chests align.  
  
  
  
They hurry to clean themselves up before the water runs cold, huddling together under the shower spray, trading lazy kisses and soapsuds, hands roaming playfully.  
  
  
Afterwards, they wrap themselves in towels and creep to Harry’s bedroom, sated and sleepy. The digital clock by the bed says that it’s almost four a.m. Harry gives Louis one of his t-shirts to wear, and he loves the way it’s a bit big on him, the hem reaching the middle of his thighs.  
  
  
Harry smiles fondly. “Like you in my clothes.”  
  
  
  
They fall into bed with heavy limbs, reaching for each other in the dark.  
  
  
  
Harry yawns, his arm cocooning Louis against him, held close to his chest. He tucks his nose into the back of Louis’s shoulder. “Guess what?” he whispers, sounding like he’s only seconds from sleep.  
  
  
  
“Hm?” Louis mumbles, his eyes already fallen closed.  
  
  
  
“I love you,” he says, a smile in his voice that makes Louis’s heart swell.  
  
  
  
“…I love you, too,” Louis whispers, kissing the back of Harry’s hand.  
  
  
  
“So much.”  
  
  
  
  
So much.

 


	9. Chapter 9

  
Harry stands in the garage of the autoshop, inhaling the ever-present fumes of gasoline, motor oil, and an air freshener that smells like pine. He bends forward over a blue Honda, the hood propped open to reveal the twisted mess of its engine. They all look the same inside. It’s just another day.  
  
  
He makes a few final inspections and steps back with a sigh, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders as he lowers the hood to a close. Leaning over cars all afternoon probably (definitely) isn’t good for his bad back.  
  
  
It’s pouring rain outside. He can hear it pelting angrily against the tin roof of the garage as he heads to the small break room in the back. He’s careful not to touch anything before he makes it to the sink, scrubbing splotches of oil and car grease from his hands.  
  
  
He digs some coins out of his pocket and slips them through the slot of the vending machine, choosing a water bottle from the second row. It falls and gets stuck like always, until he bumps the machine with his hip to jiggle it free. He takes a few long swigs, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his flannel. And then he hears his phone buzzing on the table behind him.  
  
  
He smiles when he sees it’s a text message from Louis, swiping his thumb at the screen.  
  
  
  
_:(_  
  
  
  
His heart sinks a bit at that, and he’s quick to type out a response, fingers fumbling nervously.  
  
  
  
_what’s wrong??  
_  
  
  
He doesn’t take his eyes off his phone, and moments later, there’s a reply.  
  
  
  
_i’m sick :( at school and feel like shit_  
  
  
_  
  
  
:( :( have you been to the nurse?  
_

  
  
  
  
_yeah. she said i can go home but i’ll have to walk. just waitin for the rain to stop now  
  
  
_  
Harry straightens up when he hears Kevin come into the break room behind him. He turns around, biting his lip. “Hey, Kev…d’you think you could take the rest of my shift? I’ll have you covered next week, I promise.”  
  
  
Kevin considers this for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, Harry. Everything alright?”  
  
  
“Boyfriend’s sick,” Harry says, gathering up his things in relief. “Thanks so much,” Harry tells him as he heads for the door.  
  
  
He pulls his phone back out, sending another text.  
  
  
  
_coming to get you, I’ll be there in a few xx._  
  
  
  
It’s a short drive from the autoshop to the high school, and Harry texts Louis again as soon as he’s out front, parking as close to the gate as he can manage.  
  
  
It doesn’t take long before he sees him, hurriedly making his way down the sidewalk with his hood up over his head, his small figure distorted by the rain. Harry gets out of his truck and darts around to the passenger door, opening it for Louis and helping him climb up before rushing back to his own side, getting pelted with rain in the process. Louis is far worse off, sopping wet and shivering miserably from the long walk, and Harry immediately turns up the heater.  
  
  
“ _Baby_ ,” he coos, reaching over to cup his face in his hands and press kisses to his cold, wet forehead. “What’s the matter?”  
  
  
Louis frowns, shaking his head. “Just – started feeling dizzy, so I went to the clinic and – and then I threw up,” he says, wrinkling his nose.  
  
  
Harry nods, brushing his thumb at his cheekbone. “A tummy bug?”  
  
  
Louis makes a sound of affirmation, sniffling quietly. “Lucky I made it to the toilets in time, I guess.”  
  
  
Harry smiles sadly, pulling away to shift the truck back into drive. “It’s alright. We’ll go back to my place, that okay?”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow. “Wait – don’t you work today?”  
  
  
Harry nods. “I left.”  
  
  
Louis widens his eyes in surprise, then warily bites his lip. “Harry…” he admonishes, looking down at his lap. “You didn’t have to take off _work_ for me—”  
  
  
“It’s fine, Lou. Kevin’s covering my shift. Besides,” he smiles sheepishly, his voice quiet. “You know how much I like taking care of you.”  
  
  
Louis turns to look out the window, hiding a blush, and Harry just smiles even harder.  
  
  
  
When they get to the house, Harry carries Louis inside, bringing him straight to the bathroom to strip him out of his wet clothes. He runs a hot bath while Louis brushes his teeth with the toothbrush that Harry started keeping by the sink for him. Maybe it’s a bit silly, but he can’t forget the way Louis smiled softly when Harry showed it to him, the same way he smiled when Harry made room in his wardrobe for some of Louis’s clothes, small gestures that say, _you have a place here_.  
  
  
Louis shivers on the cold tiles, clinging to Harry’s side for warmth while he frowns at the tub, waiting for it to fill. And Harry can feel the goosebumps that have sprouted up all over his skin. “Jesus, Lou. You’re freezing,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over Louis’s arms to warm him up.  
  
  
When the bath is about halfway full, Harry climbs in first, sitting down against the back of the tub and reaching out for Louis. He slowly lowers himself between Harry’s legs, leaning back against his chest, and letting out one last shiver as he sinks down into the hot water.  
  
  
Harry wraps his arms around Louis’s waist, hugging him close, and _god_ , this is so much better than being at work. He rinses a washcloth in the hot water, sliding it over Louis’s chest so the heat can soak into his skin, the water pooling in the dip of his delicate collarbones. And Louis sighs, sinking back into Harry’s touch.  
  
  
Harry brushes his lips at his temple, gently rocking him back and forth. “How’re you feeling?”  
  
  
“Just like, have body aches,” Louis mumbles weakly.  
  
  
Harry maneuvers him so that he’s sitting up then, and Louis whines at the change in position until he feels Harry’s hands on his shoulders, massaging lightly. He presses the heated cloth to his sore muscles, soothing the tension with his fingertips. And Louis’s head droops forward, groaning appreciatively.  
  
  
Harry feels his cock perk up a bit at the sound but he ignores it, knowing that now is not the time. He just can’t help how _affected_ he is by Louis, especially when he’s so close, their skin slick and slippery where it slides together in the hot bathwater.  
  
  
He rolls his thumbs at the base of Louis’s neck, digging small circles into his back and shoulders, massaging away the aches. He drags his knuckles up Louis’s spine, watching the way it makes his back arch in gratitude.  
  
  
“Should have been a masseuse,” Louis tells him.  
  
  
Harry smirks. “But then I’d have to touch other people like this.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, curling a possessive hand around Harry’s ankle. “Nevermind, then.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, hooking his chin over Louis’s shoulder to kiss his cheek. “Greedy.”  
  
  
He reaches for the shampoo then, squirting some into his palm before lathering up Louis’s hair. Louis makes pleased little noises as Harry’s fingers scratch at his scalp, dragging the suds through the strands, his knuckles brushing at the soft spots behind his ears.  
  
  
Louis sounds like he’s being lulled to sleep. “Could wash hair professionally, too, but I don’t think I want anyone else to have this, either,” he mumbles.  
  
  
Harry shakes his head. “Only want you,” he murmurs, shifting his hips slightly so that his half-hard cock nudges up against the small of Louis’s back.  
  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Louis breathes.  
  
  
But Harry just chuckles, kissing his shoulder. “Sorry. Can’t help it.”  
  
  
He quickly lathers up his own hair and then stands, gently pulling Louis with him. He releases the plug to drain the bath water and switches the shower on, standing under the spray to wash away the remaining lather and soapsuds. Louis locks his arms around Harry’s front, leaning his weight on him with his eyes closed as Harry drags his fingers through his hair, rinsing out the shampoo.  
  
  
  
When they step out of the tub, Louis starts to shiver again and Harry wraps him up in the fluffiest towel he can find, scrubbing another through his hair for him. Then they go down the hall to Harry’s room.  
  
  
Harry digs a pair of Louis’s sweatpants and socks out from the drawer he designated for him, and then pulls one of his own hoodies over his head – an old Green Bay sweatshirt that practically swallows Louis, the sleeves slipping down past his hands, turning them into little sweater-paws. He always looks so soft and adorable in it and it leaves Harry with an overwhelming urge to cuddle him.  
  
  
Harry slips on his favorite pair of flannel pajama pants and a ratted old band t-shirt as Louis climbs into his bed, burrowing under the covers and fluffing the pillows into place. Then he looks up at Harry, frowning when he sees him hovering near the door.  
  
  
“You’re not staying?”  
  
  
Harry inclines his head. “I’ll be right back, promise.”  
  
  
True to his word, he returns a few minutes later with some aspirin and a mug of hot tea, offering them to Louis before climbing into bed. He claims his usual spot on the side next to the wall, lifting his arm for Louis to snuggle up against him. He buries his face into his chest, slipping his cold hands up the back of Harry’s shirt. Harry jumps at the feeling but doesn’t protest.  
  
  
“Stomach still hurt?”  
  
  
Louis nods.  
  
  
“Just try to get some sleep, okay?”  
  
  
He nods again, nuzzling under his chin. “…Thank you, Harry,” he whispers after a moment, his voice small.  
  
  
Harry kisses the top of his head. “Don’t have to thank me, m’always gonna take care of you.”  
  
  
Louis doesn’t say anything to that, but Harry feels his arms reflexively tighten their hold on him. And he really hopes he believes him.  
  
  
He cards his fingers through Louis’s soft hair, twisting at the strands, knowing how it always helps him drift off. Sure enough, it doesn’t take long before Louis is snuffling quietly against his chest, sound asleep. And Harry is so in love with him it’s almost sickening, thinks he would lose his mind if anyone ever tried to take this boy away from him.  
  
  
  
It’s been five days since the night of Nick’s homecoming party, the night Louis confessed to his fear of losing Harry. He thinks Harry is going to leave him. And Harry had to try not to take it personally.  
  
  
It _hurt_ , really, that Louis apparently doesn’t trust that he’ll stick around, even though Harry tries so hard to show him how much he cares. But he knows that it isn’t his fault. He knows that something must have happened in Louis’s life, something that causes that sad, distant look he gets in his eyes sometimes, and makes him believe he isn’t good enough.  
  
  
But Harry has no idea what that is.  
  
  
They’ve been together for almost three months now, and he still doesn’t know how Louis ended up in foster care. Whenever they come close to talking about Louis’s past, he’s quick to change the subject, and Harry doesn’t want to pressure him into talking, doesn’t want to upset him. He just hopes that one day Louis will tell him, no matter how difficult it may be to hear. Because he wants to know everything. He wants all of Louis. Even the things that hurt.  
  
  
He holds him a little tighter, his eyes dropping closed, listening to the distant thunder, the rain softly pattering against the window and knocking a steady rhythm on the roof. And within minutes, he succumbs to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
The rain has stopped by the time Harry wakes up. He rubs at his eyes, blinking at the clock on his bedside table. It’s nearing six p.m.  
  
  
Louis is still sleeping, breathing steady and slow, and Harry pulls out of his arms, careful not to wake him. He makes a sad sound at the loss of contact but settles back against the pillows and gets quiet again, as Harry tucks the blankets around him.  
  
  
It’s quiet in the house as he pads down the hall to the living room, scratching languidly at his hip. He smiles when he finds Graceland there, curled up in a ball on the couch.  
  
  
“Hello, love,” he says, voice still rough with sleep. She meows in reply, purring as he scratches behind her ears. “You hungry?”  
  
  
She hops off the couch, stretching her back and flexing her claws against the carpet. Then she follows Harry to the kitchen, waiting by her food dish until he pours some cat kibbles into it. Harry listens to her munching happily as he digs through the cupboards and the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator, pulling out ingredients for some homemade soup.  
  
  
He’s in the middle of slicing carrots when Zayn comes home, shrugging out of his coat as he walks through the front door. He makes his way into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the counter.  
  
  
“Hey, Haz,” he says, smelling of cologne and smoke. “Thought you had work?”  
  
  
Harry glances up from the cutting board. “Louis got sick at school, so I took off.”  
  
  
Zayn makes a soft sound. “He alright?”  
  
  
Harry shrugs, reaching for the celery. “Yeah, he’s sleepin’ now.”  
  
  
Zayn nods, picking up a tiny piece of carrot to nibble on. “What are you making?”  
  
  
“Chicken noodle soup. Hoping it will make him feel better,” he says, frowning towards his bedroom.  
  
  
Zayn’s lips quirk up in a cheeky grin. “Proper domestic, H.”  
  
  
Harry looks down and smiles, his cheeks warm. “I guess so.”  
  
  
He can feel Zayn’s eyes on him, observing him sagely. “…You’re really gone for him, aren’t you?”  
  
  
Harry nods his head with a sigh. “That obvious, huh?”  
  
  
Zayn just grins some more, clapping him on the back. “Happy for you.” He steals another piece of carrot before backing away. “Gonna go shower.”  
  
  
  
When the vegetables are chopped and the chicken is finely shredded, Harry tips them into a pot of simmering broth, closing the lid to let it stew. In the meantime, he busies himself with the dishes in the sink, idly tidying up the kitchen.  
  
  
When he goes back to his room, Louis is still sleeping, and he quietly sits on the edge of the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. He replies to a text from Gemma, chatting back and forth for awhile, until he hears a small voice.  
  
  
“…Harry?”  
  
  
He turns around to find Louis blinking awake, peering up at him sleepily from where he’s burrowed in the blankets.  
  
  
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs, brushing his fringe back from his forehead. “Feeling any better?”  
  
  
Louis nods, leaning into Harry’s touch like a kitten. “Yeah, was a good nap.”  
  
  
He wraps his hand around Harry’s bicep and gives it a little tug, a silent request for cuddles, and Harry happily obliges, lying back down by his side. He nuzzles against Louis’s hair, messy and disheveled from being slept on while damp. “Smell like my shampoo,” Harry murmurs approvingly.  
  
  
And Louis chuckles under his breath. “You creep. I know that’s the only reason you let me shower here, so I’ll smell like you.”  
  
  
“Not the only reason,” Harry muses, “’s so I can see you naked, too.”  
  
  
Louis pinches his hip in retaliation and Harry sputters and laughs, ticklish.  
  
  
“ _Louuuuuu_ ,” he whines, until Louis finally relents, pulling his hand away.  
  
  
He stares up at Harry fondly, poking his finger into the indent of his dimple. And Harry pulls him closer, slipping his hand up the back of his shirt to touch warm skin. “Kisses?” he whispers hopefully.  
  
  
Louis rolls his eyes, smiling as he tilts his chin up, letting Harry’s full lips match up perfectly with his thin ones, brushing together gently. And Harry hums happily against his mouth.  
  
  
It’s not long until they hear the _beep, beep, beep_ of the timer in the kitchen, and Louis peers up at him curiously. “What’s that?”  
  
  
“Soup’s ready,” Harry says with a smile, pressing a kiss to Louis’s forehead before unraveling himself from his arms and climbing out of bed. “Wait here.”  
  
  
  
When he lifts the lid to the pot on the stove, Harry sighs at the savory smell that escapes, reminded of home. He ladles the steaming soup into two bowls, grabbing some spoons and napkins before heading back to his room. He carefully climbs back into bed, sitting with his back against the wall and motioning for Louis to join him.  
  
  
Louis stares at the bowl Harry offers him, his eyebrows raised. “Did you _make_ this?”  
  
  
“Of course,” Harry says, blowing at the steam. “Why?”  
  
  
“No reason, just,” Louis shrugs, “was expecting canned soup, I guess.”  
  
  
Harry wrinkles his nose. “That stuff’s no good.”  
  
  
Louis stares at him incredulously and then smiles shyly down at his bowl, shaking his head. “You’re amazing, you know.” He gathers some soup onto his spoon and waits for it to cool before taking a bite, groaning at the taste. “Wow. ‘S really good.”  
  
  
Harry beams at him, happy that he likes it. “Learned it from my mum.”  
  
  
Something occurs to him then, and he hesitantly pushes the noodles around his bowl. “That reminds me,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “Uhm, Louis, you know…Christmas is soon and, well, I was just wondering if maybe – maybe you’d want to come home with me? To meet mum? And Gemma?”  
  
  
Louis’s eyes widen and then his gaze drops back down to his bowl, his cheeks a bit pink. “I – sure, Harry. If you want.”  
  
  
Harry bites his lip uncertainly. “I mean, if you’d rather not, that’s okay—”  
  
  
Louis cuts him off. “No, I _do_. I want to. Just…” he shrugs, “kind of nervous, I guess.”  
  
  
Harry’s eyes soften. “Don’t have to be nervous, Lou. They’re gonna love you.”  
  
  
Louis smiles down at his soup with a nod. “Okay.”  
  
  
  
When they’ve finished eating, their spoons clatter at the bottom of their empty bowls, and Louis leans his head on Harry’s shoulder with a sated sigh. “That was great, babe. Thanks.”  
  
  
Harry smiles proudly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Ni and Barbara are probably gonna be here, soon. You still up for movie night?”  
  
  
Louis nods, stretching his arms up over his head.  
   
  
  
Only minutes pass before they hear a few loud knocks at the front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of Niall’s voice. They climb out of bed to find him and Barbara standing in the living room, chatting with Zayn.  
  
  
Harry takes the empty soup bowls to the sink while Niall hooks up the DVD player, pressing ‘play,’ on some action film starring Liam Neeson. The other three get comfortable on the couch while Harry takes the recliner chair in the back corner, popping out the footrest and looking around curiously for Louis.  
  
  
He steps out from the hallway moments later, wrapped in one of the blankets from Harry’s bed, and Harry smiles, patting his thigh for Louis to climb up. Louis tucks himself on Harry’s lap, sitting with his back against his chest and tossing the blanket over them both. And Harry is in _heaven_.  
  
  
It’s dark and cool in the living room. The light from the television flickers in shades of blue that cast across the walls, illuminating the sharp cut of Louis’s cheekbone. He’s fucking gorgeous.  
  
  
Harry leans over his shoulder to nuzzle at his ear. “Comfy?” he murmurs. The noisy film drowns his voice out so that only Louis can hear him.  
  
  
Louis nods, tilting his head up to press a kiss under Harry’s jaw. “Love you,” he whispers.  
  
  
And Harry feels his heart swell up and _burst_ , not yet used to hearing Louis say those words. “I love you,” he whispers back, wrapping his arms around him. “Does your stomach still hurt?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “Feels fine, now.”  
  
  
Harry hums, his hands hovering near his waist. “…Can I touch it?” he asks, a little shy. It’s no secret how much he loves Louis’s tummy.  
  
  
When Louis nods, Harry slips his hands up under the hem of his shirt, the movie completely forgotten as he showers Louis’s belly with attention. He slides his palms across the warm skin, gently pinching at his soft hips and the little bit of pudge below his navel, knowing full well that if they were alone right now, he’d be dropping to his knees at Louis’s side, peppering all these sacred bits with licks and kisses.  
  
  
His hand lingers near the small dip between his hips, nails scratching lazily at his happy trail. And he watches as goosebumps sprout up at the nape of Louis’s neck.  
  
  
Intrigued, Harry drifts his hand upwards, loving how it nearly covers the expanse of Louis’s chest. He feels the steady pounding of his heart beneath his palm, the beats getting quicker by the second, unable to anticipate Harry’s movements. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the nub of Louis’s nipple, flicking at it, and Louis shivers where he’s pressed up against him.  
  
  
Harry smiles, dipping his chin to bite at the back of Louis’s neck, nosing at his hairline. All the while, he plays with his little nipple, rolling it between his fingers, feeling it tighten and pucker at the touch. He draws teasing circles around the areola with his fingertip before gently pinching at the tiny bud, and Louis _whimpers_.  
  
  
“So sensitive,” Harry whispers against his skin, voice low and laced with approval. He tweaks his nipple again, tugging at it, and then rubs away the hurt with delicate brushes of his thumb.  
  
  
He has to fight some primal urge to stand up and carry Louis to the privacy of his bedroom, where he could lie him down on the bed and rake his shirt up his chest, close his mouth around the sensitive twin buds and _suck_ until Louis is horny and flushed beneath him.  
  
  
As if he could read Harry’s thoughts, Louis begins to squirm where he’s perched on his lap, all soft and pliant. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watches him bite down on his lip in anticipation, as Harry’s hand slowly drifts back down his torso. He teasingly bypasses his groin, rubbing his palms at his thighs, instead. And Louis huffs out an impatient breath. His legs fall open enticingly under the blanket, silently urging Harry to touch him there.  
  
  
Harry smiles, moving his mouth to Louis’s ear. He darts his tongue out to lick at his soft lobe, then blows at the wet skin, watching the way it makes Louis’s eyelashes flutter. “…you getting hard for me?” he whispers, so, _so_ quiet, making sure only Louis can hear.  
  
  
Louis nods, his hips needily twitching up a bit.  
  
  
Harry sucks his earlobe between his lips. “Want me to touch you?”  
  
  
Louis doesn’t answer, just turns his head, giving Harry a pleading look, his lip held between his teeth. And that’s more than enough reason for Harry, really. He suppresses a growl at his eagerness, slowly dipping his hand between Louis’s legs to find the outline of his cock in his sweatpants, trapped against his inner thigh. He lightly drags his fingertips against it, until it starts to _twitch._  
  
  
Louis jumps slightly at the feeling, and Harry wraps his other arm around his torso to keep him still. He glances over at the couch to see if the others suspect anything, but their eyes remained glued to the television, enamored with the film. They have no idea Louis is getting hard for Harry.  
  
  
Harry slides his hand back up to the waistband of Louis’s sweatpants, ever so slowly pulling at the drawstrings until they’re loose. And he hears Louis’s small sigh of relief as his hand slips into his boxers, finally wrapping around the base of his cock.  
  
  
For a moment, he just holds him there, feeling his dick fatten up against his palm. He releases his grip, then takes hold of him again, squeezing in short pulses and driving Louis mad with want, as he makes his way up his shaft in slow, calculated movements. He traces around the ridge of his cockhead, rubbing the pads of two fingers in small circles against the underside of Louis’s dick, the spot where he’s most sensitive, and Louis _squirms_ impatiently, nuzzling his head back against Harry’s cheek to beg for more touch.  
  
  
It takes _ages_ for Harry’s hand to finally reach the tip, and he bites back a groan when he finds it already smeared with blurts of precome.  
  
  
He kisses behind Louis’s ear. “Love how wet you get,” he murmurs, swirling his fingers through the pearly mess at the head of his cock. It’s dark, but Harry knows that Louis is blushing, knows how much Louis _loves_ when he teases him like this, and he feels his little hand grip into his thigh, as if he’s struggling to stay still and hold in his sounds.  
  
  
Doing this, tempting Louis with the others so close and unsuspecting nearby, is somehow turning Harry on more than he would have thought. He lifts the smaller boy up a bit, sliding his own hips forward, and when he pulls Louis back down, Harry’s hard cock is nestled up against his bum. Louis exhales, biting his lip at the feeling. Then he wiggles back against him in imperceptible movements, and Harry wants to absolutely _wreck_ him.  
  
  
They keep each other on a maddening edge like that for the duration of the film, Louis grinding back on the bulge in Harry’s pants, and Harry gently tugging on his cock, never giving enough, just teasing until they’re both hot and squirmy under the blanket, their hearts pounding way too fast. Harry looks up at the television in relief when he sees that the movie is nearly over. He needs to get Louis alone, and he needs it _now_.  
  
  
He knows there’s no way they’ll be able to move from this chair without the others noticing the obvious bulges straining at the front of their pants, so he slips his hand back up to rest on Louis’s belly, patting it gently. “Pretend to be asleep, baby,” he whispers in his ear.  
  
  
Louis doesn’t ask questions, just turns slightly and buries his head in the crook of Harry’s shoulder, his eyes dropping closed.  
  
  
  
When the credits begin to roll, Niall presses ‘eject,’ on the remote and then he and Barbara stand up from the couch, stretching and yawning.  
  
  
Barbara glances back at Harry in the corner, Louis cradled in his arms. “Aw, is he sleeping?” she whispers.  
  
  
Harry nods with what he hopes is a convincing smile, and he feels Louis’s hand clench in his shirt under the blanket.  
  
  
After that, Niall and Barbara are carefully quiet on their way to the door, waving goodbye. And then Zayn heads to his room with a wide yawn. “Night, H,” he whispers over his shoulder.  
  
  
When the coast is finally clear, Harry stands up from the chair, carrying Louis down the hall to his bedroom. As soon as he kicks the door closed behind him, Louis opens his eyes and Harry sets him down on his feet, grinning like a sneaky little kid.  
  
  
Louis smiles smugly. “We’re good actors.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, “more like _liars_.”  
  
  
And Louis shakes his head, “don’t care.” He steps closer, impatiently pulling Harry’s shirt off and tossing it to the floor.  
  
  
Harry smirks down at him, his pupils dilating with want. “Eager tonight, huh?”  
  
  
Louis bites his lip, tugging at the drawstring on Harry’s pajama pants until they fall and pool at his feet, followed by his briefs. Harry’s cock bobs free, heavy and blushing pink. “’S _your_ fault,” Louis says. He trails his finger down the line of Harry’s dick, looking up at him from under his lashes. _Fuck_.  
  
  
Within seconds, Harry has him pinned up against the wall, kissing him just like he’s been dying to all day. He makes quick work of tugging Louis out of his clothes, their mouths parting briefly as he pulls his shirt up over his head before crashing together again, all wet tongues and heat.  
  
  
Harry’s hands possessively grip at Louis’s waist. “ _Baby_ ,” he murmurs between kisses, not even caring how needy he sounds. And he feels Louis’s fingers clench in his hair.  
  
  
Harry slips his hands down to Louis’s ass then, kneading at the flesh before lifting him off his feet, carrying him straight to the bed. They fall back onto the mattress, rutting against each other, Louis’s legs locked around his waist. Harry hovers over him, kissing a path down his jaw and sinking his teeth into his neck. “What do you want?” he breathes. “Tell me.”

  
“Anything,” Louis mutters, grinding his hips up, “feels like I’ve been hard for _hours_.”  
  
  
Harry looks down between their bodies to see their dicks sliding together, craving friction, the skin smooth and hot to the touch, and he curses at the sight. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his heart rate and gain back some semblance of control here, now that his brain has been reduced to a puddle of impulsive want.  
  
  
He skims his hands up and down Louis’s torso, softly brushing his lips below his ear. “Do you – uhm…d’you think you’d want to try, like, just my fingers?”  
  
  
He hears Louis’s breath hitch, and a beat of silence passes before he nods his head.  
  
  
Harry pulls back to meet his eyes, brushing his fringe back from his forehead. “You sure?”  
  
  
Louis leans up to peck his lips, nodding again. “Yeah, yeah, want to.”  
  
  
Harry sits back on his haunches then, running a hand through his hair as he takes another deep breath. He _definitely_ needs to calm down, now. He has to be careful not to hurt Louis.  
  
  
Leaning forward, Harry digs in the drawer of his bedside table, suddenly feeling rather nervous as he pulls out a small bottle of lube. He’s only ever used it to jack off.  
  
  
“Okay,” he exhales. “I’ve never done this before, so—”  
  
  
“Wait, you haven’t?” Louis interrupts with widening eyes.  
  
  
Harry nods sheepishly. “Never had sex with a guy, before. You’ll be my first, if – if you want.”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow at that, nibbling uncertainly on his bottom lip. He looks reverent, almost… _disappointed_. And Harry frowns, confused. He definitely wasn’t expecting that reaction.  
  
  
“What’s wrong?” he whispers, dropping the lube. “I thought, like…that would make you happy?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “I am, I – I really am, I didn’t think – wow. It’s just…” he bites his lip again.  
  
  
Harry studies his face, rubbing a comforting hand at his thigh. “What is it?”  
  
  
Louis sighs, averting his eyes. “Just, it’s – if you’ve never been with a guy, I mean…what if you try it and don’t like it? What if you _hate_ it, and miss being with girls?” he mumbles, his voice quiet and shrouded with worry.  
  
  
Harry raises his brow. “Louis…” he murmurs sadly, shaking his head. He leans down, cradling his face as he kisses him.  
  
  
“Harry, I want to. I really – _god_ , I’ve thought about it so much but…I – I’m like, _scared_ ,” he whispers, his eyes closed. “Scared it will turn you off or something.”  
  
  
Harry feels his heart give a painful tug at Louis’s words, and he peppers his lips with reassuring kisses. “Shh, baby,” he whispers, lovingly brushing his thumb at his cheekbone. “Give me your hand.”  
  
  
Louis looks at him quizzically before lifting his hand, and Harry takes it in his own, slowly guiding it down his torso and wrapping Louis’s fingers around his cock.  
  
  
“Feel that?” He kisses Louis’s neck, sliding his palm along his length. “Feel how hard you’ve got me?”  
  
  
Louis lets out a shaky breath, tightening his grip. “…yeah.”  
  
  
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Harry nuzzles behind his ear, needing Louis to _understand_ , to banish these doubts. “You have nothing to worry about. Trust me,” he whispers between kisses, “I love your body. I love your pretty cock, love making you feel good, making you come. And I love _you_. I could never, ever be turned off by you, Louis. As long as you want it, I promise I’ll love it.”  
  
  
He pulls back to kiss his lips, and Louis reaches up to hold him even closer, threading his fingers through his hair.  
  
  
“Okay?” Harry breathes.  
  
  
Louis meets his eyes, smiling, soft and hesitant. “Okay.”  
  
  
“Do you still want to…?”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Louis nods. “Please.”  
  
  
And _god_ , Harry can feel his own heart knocking against his ribcage as he sits back up, fumbling for the lube. He flicks open the cap, drizzling a generous amount onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it up.  
  
  
“’M gonna be really careful but, please tell me if you want to slow down or like, stop, okay? I – I don’t wanna hurt you.”  
  
  
Louis nods, sucking in a breath as he spreads his legs, bending his knees a bit.  
  
  
Harry lies beside him on the bed, propped up on his elbow. His other hand skirts down Louis’s torso, slipping between his legs and below his balls. He comes to a stop at his hole – tiny, tiny, _tiny_ beneath his fingertips, and _fuck_ , this is happening.  
  
  
He traces around the slightly wrinkled skin of his rim, reverently exploring and spreading the lubricant. He looks up to check on Louis, gauging his reaction as the pads of his fingers rub at him in little, insistent circles. And Louis runs a hand up through his own hair at the sensation, like he’s not sure how to process it all. After a moment, his breath hitches, his thighs falling open for more.  
  
  
Harry leans down to kiss him. “This okay?”  
  
  
“Mhm,” Louis nods, a little breathless.  
  
  
Harry increases the pressure of his touches, his fingertips fluttering against the ring of muscle in quick pulses, pressing down harder and practically _massaging_ his rim, pulling tiny whimpers from Louis’s lips that go _straight_ to Harry’s erection.  
  
  
Harry slips just the tip of his finger inside, swirling it around to loosen him up, and he sees Louis’s fist grip at the bed sheet. He slowly works up to his first knuckle, feeling the muscles give bit by bit, letting Louis adjust before pushing in further.  
  
  
Louis is _tight_ , gripping onto his finger like a vice, and he’s hot inside, slick and smooth and not quite like anything Harry has ever felt. He knows that Louis is definitely not ready for his cock tonight, but he can’t help imagining how incredible he’s going to feel around him when they get that far. His dick _throbs_ at the thought, but he ignores it, focusing on Louis.  
  
  
He takes his time, gradually pushing in until his entire index finger is buried in Louis’s warmth, rubbing at the inner walls to relax his clenching muscles. Louis starts to squirm a bit and Harry leans in to mouth at his neck, sucking at his pulse-point to distract him.  
  
  
“Okay?” he asks, pulling back again to check on him.  
  
  
“Yeah, just – a bit weird,” Louis mumbles, still breathing unsteadily.  
  
  
Harry looks down to where Louis’s cock lies against his belly, softened a bit by now, and he ducks his head to suck the tip into his mouth, slurping at the precome that bubbles out. Louis moans softly, canting his hips up, and Harry pushes his finger in _deeper_ , pressing and _searching_ for the thing that he knows will make this so, so good for Louis.  
  
  
He studies his reactions, noticing that whenever he crooks his finger up and a bit to the left, Louis’s breathing quickens. Determined, he carefully pushes in that direction, watching as Louis’s thighs begin to quiver in response.  
  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Louis suddenly breathes out, confusion flickering over his face as his hips push down into the touch.  
  
  
Harry smirks _. Almost there_. He slides back up to Louis’s side, watching for his reaction as he presses further, when his fingertip brushes over a firm, tell-tale little nub—  
  
  
“ _Oh_ – oh, _fuck_ ,” Louis gasps, a shudder wracking through his whole body, making his leg kick out a bit. And _wow_.  
  
  
Harry feels his dick twitching hungrily at the sight and _sound_ of Louis, and he swallows the desire to _devour_ him. “That feel good?” he whispers, already knowing the answer. He presses down even harder on that spot.  
  
  
Louis’s mouth falls open in a silent gasp, his eyes wide and innocent as he stares up at Harry, looking adorably shocked. “ _Harry_ – oh my – _what—?_ ”  
  
  
“That’s your spot, baby,” Harry tells him, smiling gently.  
  
  
He rubs his fingertip more firmly against Louis’s prostate, watching with rapt-attention as he lets out a choked-off moan. His whole body shakes, white-knuckles gripping at the sheets, his face a mixture of pure pleasure and surprise. Harry’s cock is _dripping_ at the sight, bumping wetly against Louis’s thigh.  
  
  
“D’you want to try another? Could probably reach better, if—”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Louis cuts him off, muttering senselessly. “Yeah, more. _Please_.”  
  
  
And Harry thinks he could come on the spot, just from hearing Louis begging for his fingers like that. He pulls out, slicking up with more lube, and then he’s prodding at Louis’s hole, again. The first finger slips in with ease, but the second is a bit of a stretch, and Louis winces, his hips reflexively shying away from Harry’s touch.  
  
  
Harry grimaces, looking down at him apologetically. “Sorry.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, exhaling shakily. “S’okay, just – keep going.”  
  
  
Harry carefully works his second finger in, knowing he needs to go slow, but he’s feeling impatient, _dying_ to get back to that spot that makes Louis shiver and moan. Louis has his bottom lip held between his teeth, his eyes closed, as if he’s concentrating on relaxing. And Harry scissors his fingers a bit, pushing at the inner walls until they give into the stretch.  
  
  
Once he’s given some wiggle-room, he twists his wrist, crooking his fingers up, and _finally_ , Louis lets out the most beautiful cry, turning to bury his face against Harry’s chest.  
  
  
“Oh, _god_ ,” he practically sobs, his body shuddering and his little hand clutching uselessly at Harry’s bicep.  
  
  
Harry kisses his hair, fucking _addicted_ to this. “You sound so good,” he murmurs.  
  
  
Louis falls back against the pillow with a low groan and Harry begins to pump his fingers in and out, jabbing Louis’s prostate with each thrust. He watches, mesmerized, as Louis trembles on the sheets, flushed and desperate and moaning prettily.

  
Louis's cock curves upward, blushing and leaking onto his stomach, giving a feeble twitch whenever Harry nails his sweet spot just right.  
  
  
“You like that?” Harry whispers teasingly, curling his fingers.  
  
  
Louis whimpers, and Harry keeps talking, his voice low. “I think you do. Look at how messy your tummy is, baby,” he muses, swirling his fingers through the pool of precome that’s steadily gathering below Louis’s navel.  
  
  
Louis groans, tipping his head back, his eyes squeezed shut. He always gets off so _easily_ just from Harry’s voice. “Fucking – _damnit_ , Harry.”  
  
  
Harry chuckles, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Gotta be quiet, baby. You’ll wake up Zayn.”  
  
  
Louis looks up at him helplessly, pulling his lip between his teeth. “Don’t think I _can_.”  
  
  
Harry smirks, slowing his thrusts and making Louis keen. He kisses below his ear, breathing against his neck. “Can’t wait to get you alone. Then you can be as loud as you want, yeah?” He nibbles at his earlobe. “I wanna be the only one who knows how pretty you sound like this.”  
  
  
His fingers speed up then, pumping in quick, shallow thrusts and Louis moans weakly. His body clutches tight around him, and the sweetest little mewls keep falling through his lips, dispersed with broken gasps of Harry's name. He rocks his hips down, fucking himself on Harry's fingers, desperate for it.  
  
  
“Close – close,” he grits out. “Don’t stop – please.”  
  
  
“Not gonna stop, Lou,” Harry murmurs. “You gonna come for me?”  
  
  
Louis nods frantically, breath coming in harsh pants.  
  
  
Harry moves his free hand to Louis’s hip then, holding him still as he pushes his fingers in deep and _leaves_ them there, rubbing the pads of his fingers over Louis’s prostate. And Louis _whines_.  
  
  
“Harry – _ah, ah_.”  
  
  
Harry dips his head then, licking at the tip of Louis’s cock before taking it between his lips. He sucks on him, hollowing his cheeks, his eyes open and watching Louis fall apart beneath him. He pulls off with a _pop_ , blowing at the wet tip, his fingers still rubbing mercilessly at his spot—  
  
  
With a sharp cry, Louis arches up from the bed, body spasming with his orgasm, his cock spurting up his stomach and chest, and his hole clenches _hard_  around Harry’s fingers. Harry watches in awe. He’s _never_ made him come that hard, before.  
  
  
Afterwards, Louis lies limp on the mattress, trying to catch his breath, and looking positively _ruined_. And Harry brushes his damp fringe back from his forehead, dotting his face with kisses. “Okay for my first time?” he whispers with a little half-smile.  
  
  
Louis just shakes his head weakly. “Shit,” he breathes after a moment. “Didn’t even know it was possible to feel like that.”  
  
  
Harry smiles, slipping his damp hand down his torso and wrapping it around his cock for some much-needed relief. It’s blushing an angry red, _aching_ with the need to come. He feels like he’s been on edge for hours, now.  
  
  
Louis frowns, reaching out to stop Harry’s hand. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t use your hand. I – _I_ want to get you off. You always make me feel so good – wanna do the same for you.”  
  
  
Harry falters. Watching Louis come apart on his fingers like that was certainly _more_ than enough for him. “But –”  
  
  
“Harry,” Louis cuts him off, shaking his head. “Just tell me what you want. Please.”  
  
  
Harry bites his lip then, his eyes traveling across Louis’s naked body, covered in a light sheen of sweat and fucked out against the sheets…There _is_ something he’s thought about – no, _dreamed_ about doing with Louis, before. Something that involves one of his favorite parts of Louis’s body. He swallows thickly, his face heating up. “…Can I fuck your thighs?”  
  
  
Louis quirks his brow, confused. “Wh-what do you mean?”  
  
  
Harry sits back on his calves, slowly scooting closer. He takes both of Louis’s legs in his hands, crossing his feet at his ankles and lifting them up to rest on his shoulder. Then he pushes his hips forward, nudging the head of his cock against the gap between Louis’s thighs in demonstration. “Like this…?”  
  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Louis breathes in understanding, and then he nods. “Y-yeah. Go ahead.”  
  
  
Harry exhales, his heart immediately speeding back up at the prospect. He reaches for the lube, quickly drizzling some into his palm and rubbing his hands together, before smoothing it between Louis’s legs. His thighs are somehow plush and slender at the same time, a bit muscular but also nice and soft. It seems like Louis's entire body is a contradiction, and Harry fucking adores it.  
  
  
“Jesus…your thighs are _gorgeous_ , Lou,” he murmurs, thoroughly spreading the lubricant.  
  
  
Louis blushes but doesn’t say anything, watching Harry’s movements in fascination.  
  
  
He uses the excess lube to slick up his cock and then wraps his hands around Louis’s legs, holding them close together. “Okay?”  
  
  
When Louis nods his head, Harry slowly pushes his hips forward, fucking into the warm, snug little gap between Louis’s silky thighs. It’s not _quite_ tight enough, making Harry grunt and frantically snap his hips, chasing a feeling that is so light and maddeningly teasing. It’s _everything_. He loses himself in it, mouth falling open as he starts to pant. " _Louis_..." he moans.  
  
  
He keeps one hand steadied on Louis's hip, the other locked around his calves to hold them in place as he fucks himself between his legs, pulling Louis back against him to meet his pistoning hips. He looks down, watching the way Louis is jostled up the bed with each thrust, staring unabashedly as Harry uses his thighs to get off. He catches Harry watching him and bites down on his lip, a little shy, teasingly dragging his fingers through the puddle of come that’s still splattered across his belly – _fucking hell_. Harry groans, turning his head to kiss at Louis’s delicate ankles.    
  
  
He watches his cock, hard and glistening as it pushes through the slippery space between Louis’s thighs, smearing the precome that drizzles from his slit. Louis's thighs _jiggle_ slightly with every thrust, and Harry is going mad for it. He slides his hands down, wrapping them low around Louis's legs, towards his bum. He grips tightly and pulls him down _hard_ onto his cock, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet room.  
  
  
“ _Fuck_ , baby,” he cries, his head falling back.  
  
  
After a long night of being held so close to the edge, it doesn’t take long for him to be sent over, spiraling fast. He pulls back at the last second, holding his cock at the base and spilling his come onto the back of Louis’s thighs in thin ropes, watching them trail down obscenely.  
  
  
“Holy _shit_ ,” he gasps out, dropping Louis’s legs and collapsing beside him on the bed.  
  
  
Louis scoots in close and tucks himself possessively under Harry’s arm, their skin searing hot where it’s pressed together. He dots kisses under his jaw, as Harry lazily rubs his hand over Louis’s sweat-slicked back.  
  
  
After a few minutes, Louis starts to fidget. “’M _sticky_ ,” he says, wrinkling his nose.  
  
  
And Harry chuckles. “Shower?”  
  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
  
When they wake up the next morning, Louis is pleasantly surprised to find ten fingerprint-shaped bruises pressed into his thighs, and Harry smothers every single one with kisses.


	10. Chapter 10

  
On Louis’s birthday, they take a drive out into the village square, dressed up and smelling nice. Harry made reservations at a cozy little Italian restaurant for lunch, nestled between buildings of red brick and busy streets. They sit in a booth by the window, sharing steaming bowls of pasta and fresh bread dipped in olive oil. It’s the first time in years that Louis has actually celebrated his birthday. He forgot what it was like.  
  
  
Back at the home, they’d stick a candle in a cupcake and everyone would gather around to sing, and then it was over, just like that. Every year, before he would blow out the candle, they told him to make a wish. And every year, Louis would wish for the same thing. Just to be happy. Nothing more, nothing less.  
  
  
He looks up at Harry now, sitting across the table with both dimples out, grinning cheekily as he pushes the left over linguine noodles on his plate into the shape of a crooked heart.  
  
  
And yeah, Louis thinks, maybe wishes on birthday candles really do come true, sometimes.

  
The town looks like something out of a Christmas card this time of year, dawned with twinkling lights strung from the rooftops, tinsel wrapped around lampposts, and a wreath hung from every shop door. A small group of carolers gather on the street corner, singing _O Holy Night_ in perfect harmony, and Harry empties the loose change from his wallet into their collection hat.  
  
  
Afterwards, they explore the streets, pink-cheeked from the cold and walking with their fingers laced between them. Some people give them _looks_ as they pass by; you don’t see very many boys holding hands in a small town like this, but Louis can’t be bothered to care. Because Harry doesn’t seem to care at all. And Louis never wants to hold anyone else’s hand.  
  
  
They spend at least half an hour wandering the streets, because a certain _someone_ is absolutely _determined_ to find mistletoe. He cackles like an excited child when he finally spots some, dangling from a tree outside of a nearby coffee shop. And then he pulls Louis underneath it, a proud smile on his face.  
  
  
Skeptical, Louis looks up at the signature holly and berries with a quirked brow. “Thought this shit only existed in movies.”  
  
  
“Nope,” Harry says. He has his hands held behind his back, looking down at him expectantly.  
  
  
“So I’m s’pose to kiss you now?”  
  
  
Harry shrugs his shoulders. “It’s bad luck if you don’t.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head and stands up on his toes, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. “Did you just make that up?”  
  
  
“Think so,” Harry whispers. He lifts a cold hand to cup Louis’s face as he presses their lips together, soft and sweet. They smile into the kiss, and after a moment, Harry pulls back, his thumb brushing at Louis’s cheekbone. “Still can’t believe today’s your birthday,” he murmurs. “You’re like a little Christmas present.”  
  
  
“’m not little,” Louis mumbles.  
  
  
Harry actually _giggles_ , glancing down at their feet. “You’re standing on your tippy-toes, right now.”  
  
  
_That_ earns him a swift poke to the belly and a sharp tug on his curls.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They go back to Harry’s place for the night, the television turned on in the living room to catch the Christmas specials. Louis hangs out in the kitchen while Harry bakes him a birthday cake, double-chocolate chip with chocolate icing, because he knows that Louis detests vanilla.  
  
  
Louis told him that he didn’t have to bake him a cake, of course, that they could just pick one up from a shop like all _normal_ people, but Harry wouldn’t hear of it. And so, he sits up on the kitchen counter, lightly kicking his feet against the cabinets below and watching as Harry stirs a bowl of cake batter with a wooden spoon. He sneaks his hand into the bowl, collecting some of the mix onto his finger before Harry bats him away for the fourth time.  
  
  
“ _Louuu_ ,” Harry chastises.  
  
  
Louis sighs dramatically. “What’s the point of making a cake if you don’t eat the batter?”  
  
  
Harry frowns. “There’s raw eggs in this. You’ll get salmonella poisoning.”  
  
  
Louis rolls his eyes. His boyfriend is always so cautious. With a smirk, he slips his chocolate-covered finger into his mouth, staring pointedly at Harry as he sucks at the batter.  
  
  
Harry watches him, eyes narrowed and focused on the suction of his lips, before shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Honestly. You’re such a distraction.”  
  
  
Louis crosses his arms. “Give me something to do, then.”  
  
  
Harry laughs. “Not a chance. I like this kitchen. I’d prefer if it wasn’t engulfed in flames, you know.”

  
“Oh, come on,” Louis pouts. “With your supervision, I’m hardly a fire-hazard.”  
  
  
Harry shrugs. “If you insist.” He glances around the counter space, then cocks his head over his shoulder. “The frosting could use a good stirring. Can you handle that?”  
  
  
Louis hops down from the counter. “Think I can.”  
  
  
“And keep your fingers out of the bowl!” Harry calls over his shoulder after a moment.  
  
  
Louis just chuckles around a mouthful of frosting. “Too late for tha’.”  
  
  
  
Harry pours the cake batter into two pans and slips them into the oven, setting the timer above the stove. The delicious, sugary smell of baked goods fills the kitchen as Louis busies himself with the frosting, stirring until it’s creamy. He’s contemplating licking the spoon when two arms wrap around his waist from behind, pulling him back against a solid chest. Harry bends down to hook his chin over his shoulder, dragging his lips at the soft spot below his ear.  
  
  
Louis fails to suppress a shiver at the feeling, the spoon falling from his hand. “ _Honestly_ ,” he tuts, mocking Harry, “you’re such a _distraction_.”  
  
  
Harry gives a low chuckle, his chest vibrating where it’s pressed to Louis’s back. He spins him around and lifts him up despite Louis’s protests, carrying him bridal-style into the living room. He sets him down on the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of him, laying his head in his lap, his eyes dropping closed. Louis smiles down at him, petting his hair, and Harry practically _purrs_ in appreciation.  
  
  
He tilts his head up, pretty green eyes gazing at the younger boy. “Had a good birthday, so far?”  
  
  
Louis nods, his heart swelling. “The best,” he says, and it isn’t a lie.  
  
  
Harry hums, turning to nose at the inseam of Louis’s jeans. “…Can I make it better?”  
  
  
Louis bites his lip at that. He tightens his grip in Harry’s hair, gently dragging his head further up between his thighs in reply. And Harry goes willingly, a smirk on his lips.  
  
  
“Wait,” Louis says then, and Harry looks up at him with a quirked brow. He watches bemusedly as he reaches for the TV remote, clicking the _off_ button. “You are _not_ blowing me to ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’”  
  
  
Harry laughs, that same old ridiculous, cackling burst, as his hands drift up Louis’s thighs. His fingers pinch at the hem of Louis’s sweater, slowly lifting it up. He scoots closer, nuzzling his face against Louis’s bare belly and nipping lovingly at the skin. Louis watches him, his cheeks blushing warm. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite get used to Harry worshipping his tummy, like this. He’s even grown to like his stomach a bit himself, just from knowing how much Harry _loves_ it.  
  
  
Harry dots the skin around his belly button with kisses, blowing raspberries, and Louis laughs, stroking the curls at the nape of his neck. “Beginning to think this is the only reason you’re with me,” he says, faking a pout.  
  
  
“Nuh-uh,” Harry coos, smiling as he noses at his happy trail. “’m in love with your little tummy and everything attached to it.”  
  
  
He latches his mouth to Louis’s hipbone then, sucking a bruise into the skin while he gets a hand between them, palming at Louis through his jeans, squeezing gently at his cock. His fingers trail up to the fly, popping the button and pulling the zip down.  
  
  
“Baby…” Harry whispers, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops.  
  
  
Louis swallows thickly and obeys the silent command, lifting his hips and letting Harry tug his jeans off, until he’s left in a pair of white boxer-briefs. His cock sits at the front, more than half-hard.  
  
  
Harry gently brushes his knuckles against the bulge, watching it twitch and harden at the touch, the fabric stretching tight. He dips his head, mouthing at him over the cotton, plush open lips dragging from base to tip. The pressure is maddeningly light, making Louis wriggle impatiently on the couch. And Harry moves his hands to his hips to hold him still.  
  
  
He presses his lips to Louis’s cockhead, pulling back just to exhale against him, his warm breath seeping through the thin briefs and ghosting across Louis’s delicate skin. He’s such a goddamn _tease_ sometimes, but secretly, Louis loves it.  
  
  
“Harry…” he whines, growing more and more needy.  
  
  
“Hm?” Harry mutters, his voice trained with such casual nonchalance that drives Louis _insane_.  
  
  
“I – _please_?”    
  
  
Harry drags his lips up the outline of Louis’s cock. “Yeah?” he murmurs, “want my mouth?”  
  
  
He just keeps kissing the head of Louis’s cock, brushing his lips at the sensitive underside before pulling back to breathe against it. And Louis is wondering what the hell he’s waiting for until he feels a bead of precome bubble out from his slit. Harry watches, eyes blown with lust, as the resulting wet spot forms at the front of his briefs. He groans approvingly, and Louis squirms with a shameless whine.  
  
  
Harry’s fingertips dip into the waistband of Louis’s briefs then. He pulls them back and _finally_ suctions his mouth to his cockhead, slurping at the precome there. “Love tasting you,” he murmurs between licks, his lips shiny and wet.  
  
  
Louis bites his lip as Harry drags his briefs the rest of the way down and tosses them to the floor. He grabs a pillow from the other side of the couch then, tucking it under his knees before setting to work. He drapes Louis’s legs over each shoulder, his arms wrapped around his thighs, scooting in close to burrow his head between them.  
  
  
He presses a suckling kiss to Louis’s slit, coaxing out more precome before slowly sinking down. His lips stretch around him obscenely, puffy and red. Louis exhales a shaky breath as he begins to bob his head up and down.  
  
  
“ _God_ , Harry,” he groans, his head falling back against the couch cushion.  
  
  
Harry hums at the praise, his mouth vibrating pleasantly around Louis’s swollen cock. His green eyes flick open, glancing up to meet Louis’s gaze. And Louis reaches both hands out to touch his hair, pushing the strands back from his face and scratching at his scalp, his fingers stroking and tugging, just the way Harry likes.  
  
  
He pulls up and latches his mouth to the sensitive little underside of Louis’s cock, tonguing at a vein and making his hips jolt.  
  
  
“F- _fuck,_ ” he gasps, his hands tightening in Harry’s curls.  
  
  
Harry sucks him down harder, his eyes dropping blissfully closed, groaning low in his throat every time Louis moans for him, his slit leaking precome onto his tongue.  
  
  
  
He comes down Harry’s throat well before the baking timer goes off, and Harry wipes at his mouth with a satisfied smirk.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They spend the rest of the night curled up in front of the television, watching ‘A Christmas Story,’ and eating Louis’s birthday cake, sharing chocolate-flavored kisses. And Harry was right, it really is better than buying one from a shop.  
  
  
At one point, Harry disappears into his bedroom and walks back out carrying a small stack of gift-wrapped boxes in his arms, topped with shiny bows. He sets them down on the coffee table in front of Louis, smiling sheepishly. And Louis frowns, his stomach twisting a bit. He had told Harry not to get him anything for Christmas, because he doesn’t have any money to buy him a gift in return.  
  
  
“Harry...” he says warily. “I thought you promised not to get me any presents?”  
  
  
Harry coughs. “Well, er – technically baby, I promised not to get you any _Christmas_ presents. But these are birthday presents, see.”  
  
  
Louis raises a brow at the gifts gathered in front of him, picking up the smallest box. “Then why is _Santa Claus_ on the wrapping paper?” he exclaims, unable to keep a fond grin off his face.  
  
  
Harry laughs, leaning forward to peck his nose. “’cos you’re a Christmas present, remember?”  
  
  
Louis just shakes his head, staring down at the boxes in disbelief. “...thank you,” he says after a moment, his voice quiet.  
  
  
Harry chuckles. “Don’t thank me yet. They might be really shit, you know.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. There’s nothing Harry has given him that he hasn’t fallen completely in love with, but he doesn’t say it. He moves to tear the paper from the box in his hands, but Harry stops him, putting it back on the table.  
  
  
“Open this one last,” he says.  
  
  
So, Louis starts on the other boxes, and for the first time in years, he gets to open birthday presents. He gets a new set of headphones that make music sound clearer than anything he’s ever heard, and a pair of Vans he remembers pointing out to Harry when they went shopping in town months ago, just shortly after they started dating. He smiles, because Harry remembered. He always remembers.    
  
  
Louis can’t stop shaking his head in disbelief, can’t stop saying ‘thank you,’ over and over again, can’t stop thinking he doesn’t deserve these things.  
  
  
Harry has him open the smallest gift last, blushing a bit as he sets it down in Louis’s lap. And Louis holds his breath as he carefully peels away the wrapping paper, revealing a blue velvet box.  
  
  
Inside the box is a ring, attached to a chain and – wait, he recognizes this ring. It’s the silver one that Harry usually wears, but it looks different, somehow. Shinier. And when he lifts it up, he notices that it’s now engraved with something…There’s an anchor…a butterfly…a lock and key…He gasps when he realizes that they are all tiny, exact replicas of Harry’s tattoos, etched into the silver.  
  
  
Louis stares down at it, hands shaking slightly. A lump rises in his throat.  
  
  
Harry’s voice breaks the silence then, sounding a bit nervous. “Er – that was my ring. I knew it wouldn’t fit your fingers, so I had it put on a chain and – and engraved with some of my tattoos? Wish I had the money to get you something nicer, but—”  
  
  
His words are cut off as Louis throws his arms around him, burying his face against his neck, the ring still clutched tightly in his hand.  
  
  
Harry sighs in relief, chuckling a bit. “Does this mean you like it?”  
  
  
Louis’s arms tighten around him, nodding his head. A terrible urge to cry is clawing at the back of his throat, and he bites down hard on his lip to keep it in.  
  
  
“…it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever been given,” Louis whispers after a moment, and he hopes Harry can’t hear the tremble in his voice. “Haven’t had a birthday present in years.”  
  
  
He hears Harry’s breath catch at that, and then his arms tighten around him. “Sweetheart…”  
  
  
A small tear rolls down Louis’s cheek at the word, but he quickly wipes it on his sleeve behind Harry’s back.  
  
  
He doesn’t understand it. He’ll never understand how he ended up with this beautiful boy. Harry has already given him everything he could possibly want but he just keeps giving more, never stops giving. Louis resists the urge to shy away, tries to silence the voice that’s telling him these things are too good for him. That Harry is too good for him.  
  
  
“I love you so much,” Louis whispers against his neck, but the words alone never seem like enough.  
  
  
He sits back on his lap then, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Harry smiles at him softly, lifting a hand to thumb at the wetness at the corner of Louis’s eye. He takes the chain from his hand, gently clasping it behind Louis’s neck. The ring falls at his chest and rests against his breastbone, glinting a bit in the light. “…Wanted to give you something to remind you that I’m yours,” Harry whispers. “Just in case you ever forget.”  
  
  
Louis nods, clearing his throat. “I love it,” he whispers, his voice so incredibly small.  
  
  
“I love you,” Harry tells him.  
  
  
And Louis kisses him, wishing he could convey every feeling of gratitude and love, want and _need,_ and every great, _amazing_ thing Harry has ever made him feel through his lips. He clings to him, arms tightening around his neck as Harry licks into his mouth, sighs passing between them each time they part, only to crash back together again.  
  
  
“Harry…” Louis breathes between kisses.  
  
  
Harry pecks at his lips, his hands rubbing gentle circles against his back. “What is it, love?”  
  
  
Louis pulls away, burying his face against Harry’s neck. He presses his lips to the skin there, kissing softly, breathing in the intoxicating smell of his cologne and chocolate and _Harry_. His fingers twist around his curls, exhaling nervously as he grinds down onto his lap.  
  
  
Harry’s hands tighten possessively around his waist. “Louis…”  
  
  
Louis burrows shyly against his shoulder, his heart stuttering in his chest. “Harry, can you – can we…? Tonight…?”  
  
  
He feels Harry’s body stiffen against him. “…Tonight?”  
  
  
Louis nods, his cheeks burning. "Like, now?"  
  
  
“Look at me,” Harry whispers, gently pulling him back to meet his eyes. “...are you sure?”  
  
  
Louis’s face feels like it’s on fire, blushing furiously. “Yes, I – please?”  
  
  
Harry leans forward, kissing him. “Okay,” he breathes, “okay, yeah, I – okay, _god_.” He licks desperately into Louis’s mouth, standing up from the couch with the smaller boy still cradled in his arms.  
  
  
  
  
He carries him to his bedroom on clumsy feet, kicking the door closed behind him even though they have the house to themselves. They quickly tug each other out of their clothes, and Louis is left completely bare, except for the necklace that still hangs around his neck, cold against the heated skin of his chest. They climb into bed, and Louis is _shaking_.  
  
  
Harry pulls some lube and a condom out of the bedside table, dropping them down on the mattress. He runs a nervous hand through his hair before moving to crawl up Louis’s body, lying naked between his legs, skin against skin. He brushes his fingers through Louis’s soft fringe, meeting his eyes in the pale moonlight that spills in through the window.  
  
  
“Promise you’ll tell me if you change your mind?” he whispers.  
  
  
Louis nods, exhaling shakily. “Promise.”  
  
  
Harry kisses him then, their breathing already unsteady, hearts pounding way too fast where their chests are pressed together. Harry rolls his hips down and Louis can _feel_ his cock against his inner thigh, heavy and full.  
  
  
Ever since the first night it happened, Harry has been coaxing Louis open with his fingers each time he comes over, getting him used to the stretch, but Louis still isn’t sure if Harry is going to fit inside of him. He glances down at his boyfriend’s cock with a blush. He’s just so _big_.  
  
  
Harry drizzles some lube onto his fingers, slicking up Louis’s hole before gently pushing a knuckle inside. He nudges and stretches at the inner walls, prepping to work another finger in. Louis spreads his legs further, taking deep breaths and focusing on relaxing his muscles like they practiced.  
  
  
Harry watches him closely. “Okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods reassuringly, his breathing shallow.  
  
  
Harry crooks his fingers, searching for that fleshy little nub that makes Louis keen, and he knows he’s found it when his thighs begin to quiver, a tiny gasp falling from his lips. His eyes widen, hips pushing down into the touch.  
  
  
“Good?” he whispers, and Louis nods. Harry kisses his forehead, his own breathing labored and his cock swollen and neglected where it’s pressed against Louis’s thigh. He keeps rubbing at his prostate, pulling shaky breaths from Louis’s lips. He uses the distraction to wiggle a third finger in.  
  
  
He spends _ages_ stretching Louis out, pulling back frequently to apply more lube, being extra cautious this time. He brings him so close to the edge but never lets him come, and it leaves Louis needy and desperate and sweating against the sheets.  
  
  
“Please,” he mutters, biting his lip as the pads of Harry’s fingers strokes over his prostate. “Please, Harry, ‘m ready, please.”  
  
  
Harry swallows thickly, gently pulling his hand away, leaving Louis empty. He takes a deep breath as he sits back on his heels, pinching the tip of the condom and smoothing it onto his dick. He’s hard and achy from watching and listening to Louis being fucked with his fingers, and he coats himself with lube, stroking liberally.  
  
  
“Okay,” he says, not entirely sure how to go about this. “I think – think maybe it’d be best if you lie on your side.”  
  
  
Louis nods, rolling over obediently, and Harry’s heart clenches at the sight. Louis trusts him so, _so_ much to do this, to take his _virginity_ , and it scares the hell out of Harry. He doesn’t want to hurt him.  
  
  
He lies down beside Louis, spooning up behind him. He lifts his thigh, pulling it back over his own legs. He’s pliant in his arms and Harry props himself up on his elbow, looking over Louis’s shoulder to see his face.  
  
  
He brings his hands up to his bum, spreading him open. And then he lines himself up with Louis’s entrance, nudging his cockhead against his rim. He presses just the tip inside, and Louis sucks in a sharp breath.  
  
  
“…okay?” Harry whispers.  
  
  
Louis nods, exhaling.  
  
  
Harry eases a bit further in, and his eyelashes flutter as he’s encompassed in slick heat, the _tightest_ thing he’s _ever_ felt around his cock. He pauses, taking a breath to collect himself. His body is screaming at him to push further, but he knows he has to hold back for Louis. He nudges inside a bit more, until Louis’s eyes suddenly clench shut, his face burying against the pillow. He lets out a cry – a _painful_ one.  
  
  
Harry freezes at the sound. “Louis?”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head, his face still hidden in the pillow and Harry’s heart drops. Immediately, he moves to pull out but Louis’s hand reaches back, holding him in place. “Don’t – s’okay.”  
  
  
Harry watches him skeptically. “Baby…”  
  
  
Louis lifts his face from the pillow, but his eyes are still clenched shut. He shakes his head. “Just – just don’t move for a second.”  
  
  
Harry breathes out, trying to ignore the pure, blissful feeling of his cockhead being wrapped up so perfectly inside Louis’s body, throbbing with the desire to _move_. A heavy guilt settles in his stomach. He hates that he gets to feel this good from something that is clearly hurting Louis.  
  
  
Louis takes a few more deep breaths, trying to relax. Harry is thick, stretching him so much more than his fingers did, and it _burns_. But he’s wanted this for too long to give up. He grips his hands into the sheets, glancing back at Harry. “O-okay. Try to move again.”  
  
  
Harry steadies a hand at his hip, pushing further inside. And Louis hisses in pain, his hips shying away reflexively.  
  
  
Harry frowns, his stomach churning at the pained look on his boyfriend’s face. “Louis…maybe we should stop.”  
  
  
Louis shakes his head. “No, no, I want this, I –” he pauses, biting worriedly at his lip. If Harry wants to stop, maybe Louis was right, maybe trying sex with him turned him off. Maybe he really does hate it.  
  
  
He swallows thickly, feeling a bit panicked. “I’m – do you not _want_ to—?”  
  
  
Harry cuts him off, reading his mind. “Of course I do, baby. I – _god_ , Louis, you have no idea how good you feel right now.” Louis blushes and Harry drops his head, exhaling against the back of his shoulder and pressing a kiss to the skin there. “But I hate seeing you hurting. I just want to make you feel good.”  
  
  
Louis smiles, relieved, his heart bursting at how patient and caring Harry is. “You will. Just…keep going slow, and…and try to find that – that spot,” he mutters, his face heating up in embarrassment.  
  
  
Harry gently pulls out to slick himself up with even more lube, coating the excess around Louis’s hole. He presses back inside, painstakingly slow, pausing after each push to let Louis adjust to the stretch.  
  
  
They’re both breathing heavily; Louis from the exertion of relaxing his muscles and trying not to pull away, and Harry resisting the urge to push too far forward. He just keeps pressing in in tiny increments, watching carefully for Louis’s reactions, praying for something _good_.  
  
  
He’s about halfway in when Louis’s breath hitches.  
  
  
Harry’s ears prick up at the noise. “…okay?”  
  
  
Louis nods. “Y-yeah, keep going.”  
  
  
Harry angles his hips in that same direction, pressing forward, until Louis lets out a soft cry.  
  
  
“Oh _god_ , there – _there_.”  
  
  
Harry could possibly _weep_ in relief, at that. Encouraged, he grinds his hips into that same spot. Louis buries his face into the pillow again, but the moan he releases isn’t out of pain, this time.  
  
  
“Right there?” Harry breathes, already knowing the answer.  
  
  
Louis nods weakly, face contorted in pleasure. Harry pulls back for the first time and then pumps his hips forward experimentally, his cock dragging in and out, causing Louis to tremble against him.  
  
  
“ _Harry_ ,” he whines, little fingers twisting in the sheets.  
  
  
Harry tips his chin, kissing at his neck as he rolls his hips. “Does that feel good, baby?”  
  
  
Louis nods frantically. “S-so good, fuck.”  
  
  
Harry builds up a rhythm then, pulling his hips back just to snap them forward again, loving the way it makes Louis cry out every time he nails his prostate just right. His hips stutter forward until he finally bottoms out, fully sheathed in Louis’s warmth.  
  
  
He holds him back against his chest, spooning the smaller boy as he thrusts up into him, quickening his pace. He keeps his chin hooked over Louis’s shoulder the whole time, panting against his ear. Louis’s body grips at him tightly, muscles clenching around his swollen cock and making Harry groan.  
  
  
It’s better than anything he’s ever had, ever felt, ever dreamed of, ever. He can’t even fathom how Louis could think for even one second that he would hate this. He wants to diminish those worries completely, needs Louis to know how much he _loves_ this, loves being with him.  
  
  
“Can’t even believe how good you feel,” he murmurs, “feel so perfect around me, so _tight_.”  
  
  
Louis whimpers at the praise, turning his head to look back at Harry, and Harry kisses him, messy flicks of his tongue, breathing hard against his lips. He plants his feet flat on the mattress, rocking his hips up. His hands grip at Louis’s waist, holding him still as he fucks up into him hard.  
  
  
Louis breaks the kiss with a stunned gasp. “ _Harry_ – oh my _god_.”  
  
  
Louis is _loud_ , whining as he falls apart, stretched out on Harry’s cock. The chain around his neck sways back and forth every time Harry’s hips collide in sharp snaps against his bum, the skin slapping together wetly.  
  
  
Louis drags a hand up through his hair, mind lost to the sensation, as white-hot heat licks its way down his spine in tingling sparks. It’s so fucking _intense_ , the feeling of Harry big and thick inside of him, pumping and dragging. He’s gone for it, whimpering senselessly, until Harry pushes in deep and stays there, grinding the head of his cock against Louis’s prostate in tiny, insistent circles.  
  
  
“ _ah_... _…ah...…ah_...... _HarryHarryHarry_ ,” he whines, “please, ah – _ahh_.”  
  
  
Harry knows exactly what he needs, moving a hand up to take hold of his cock, gripping firmly. “So perfect, baby, wanna make you come,” he whispers, stroking him, “please, baby. Please come for me.”  
  
  
Louis arches against him with a choked-off moan, spurting all over his tummy, his muscles quivering and clenching _hard_ around Harry’s cock, making him grunt. He’s pliant and soft in Harry’s arms as he holds him against his chest, picking up the pace of his hips, frantically chasing that feeling. His eyes roll back as he finally spills into the condom with a drawn-out groan, his orgasm coursing through him harder than it ever has in his _life_.  
  
  
He collapses back against the mattress with Louis still held in his arms, exhausted. They lie together in the moonlight for a while, catching their breath, too worn out to move an inch. Harry is the one to get up, gently pulling out and tying up the condom. He kisses Louis’s forehead. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispers, and Louis nods tiredly.  
  
  
Harry returns a moment later with a wet flannel and a glass of water in his hands. He sets the water down on the table, sitting on the edge of the bed. Using the flannel, he cleans the come from Louis’s belly, and Louis wrinkles his nose as he gently wipes at his bum.  
  
  
When he climbs back into bed, Louis cuddles up to him instantly, smiling shyly and burrowing against his neck.  
  
  
Harry kisses his hair. “How are you feeling, love?”  
  
  
“Good. Really good. Tired,” he yawns, “think I’m going to be sore tomorrow, though,” he says, pinching Harry’s hip.  
  
  
Harry smirks, nuzzling at his hair. “Sorry.”  
  
  
“Don’t be. I liked it.” Louis bites uncertainly at his lip then. “Did you, uhm…was that okay?”  
  
  
Harry shakes his head, chuckling against his hair. “Never come that hard in my life.”  
  
  
Louis furrows his brow. “You’re just saying that.”  
  
  
“I swear to god, love,” he murmurs with a smile. “Think I’m addicted, now. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”  
  
  
Louis’s arms tighten around him possessively, burrowing against his chest. “Good.”  
  
  
Harry laughs, kissing the top of his head. “I love you, you know.”  
  
  
Louis smiles. “…love you, too.”  
  
  
He reaches up a hand to take hold of his necklace, falling asleep with the ring clasped against his palm.  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay they finally did it lol. i end too many chapters with them falling asleep but oh well
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> thanks for reading<3
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> [my tumblr](http://tummyworship.tumblr.com)


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